


Monster Next Door

by ILikeToSneeze



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chameleon Arch (Doctor Who), Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILikeToSneeze/pseuds/ILikeToSneeze
Summary: When the worst of the universe becomes too much for even the Doctor to handle, she runs to her safe haven. But there are monsters on Earth, too - just not the ones she was expecting.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

It was very seldom that anyone extraordinary crossed Rupert’s path.

While the average person would probably balk at the suggestion that they were anything less than unique, Rupert prided himself on being very normal. He did not indulge in any delusions that a man who worked a nine-to-five and then returned to an empty townhouse could be anything other than ordinary.

However, secretly, (usually while sat in front of the telly, an empty tumbler in his hand) he couldn’t deny that sometimes, when the mundanity of mopping floors became unexciting enough for even him to grow restless, he wished for something more. For something a little extraordinary.

He didn’t think that his wish would be granted, much less that it would quite literally run into him on a grey Monday morning – a morning that had been shaping up to become a day like any other.

“I’m so sorry!” The voice was new; its owner had a handkerchief in her hand, already crouched on the floor and mopping up her puddle of spilt tea.

Rupert watched her for several seconds too long, his brain slow to adjust from where it had been lost in monotony. When it finally did catch up with the unexpected exchange, he hurried to pull a cleaning rag from his pocket.

“You don’t have to,” she said, as he reached over to help. It was then that she looked up, and his response became stuck in his throat.

When he did speak, it was with a rather croaky voice. “It’s my job.”

“Oh!” Her eyes moved to the janitor’s cart beside him, then to the ‘Rupert’ sewn onto the breast pocket of his overalls in sweeping red font. “Right, of course. Sorry. Bit of a mess today.”

She awkwardly withdrew her hand, casting the soaked handkerchief a sorry glance. Then she seemed to jump slightly and shot a look at her wristwatch, biting her lip as she read the time.

“I’m really sorry, I’m late—”

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to. “Not a problem. Leave that, I can deal with it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, already gathering her papers from where they had spread on the ground, miraculously safe from the puddle of tea.

“Positive,” he replied, privately surprised at the truth behind the words. Had it been any other person, he would have been frustrated. Angry, even, depending on how the traffic had been that morning.

Her, however? He found himself wishing she would spill her tea again tomorrow, if only to give him the excuse to speak to her again.

“Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “Sorry again. It was nice meeting you.”

He watched her as she walked away, a glare of sunshine-blonde in the expanse of a dull, dreary Monday morning. It was a wonderment that every head wasn’t turned in her direction.

Rupert had heard that they had hired a new lecturer. He had also heard that she might be a little eccentric. But he hadn’t expected her to be quite so radiant.

* * *

For two days, Rupert had been unable to get her out of his head.

For two days, a dazzling pair of hazel eyes, deep and beautiful like crystallised amber, had sewn themselves into his mind.

For two days, Rupert haunted that specific spot of corridor, hoping to see her come rushing around the corner again; only this time, he would catch her before she fell, and she would look into his eyes and—

A shoulder bumping his own broke him from his daydreaming, and Rupert steadied himself against his mop. He glanced around to find that he was suddenly surrounded by a sea of students. Their loud presence had somehow passed him by as he had stood, leant against his mop and staring at a locker (the owner of which he could now see was giving him a very uncertain look) for, if the lunchtime-like rush was to be believed, just shy of half an hour.

He hadn’t realised he had been quite so out of it, and was immediately thankful that he was the type of person who tended to blend in with the furniture if he kept his mouth shut.

Regrettably, the rest of the day was about as successful at running into the new lecturer who now occupied a significant portion of his mind. It wasn’t until Friday rolled around and Rupert had begun to suspect that he must have imagined her, that he saw her again.

She was once again in a hurry (although this time it was the end of the day), her long coat caught up in her bag strap as she marched toward the grand front gates of the university.

Desperate not to miss this chance, Rupert hurried to catch up with her. He slowed his walk to something far more casual as he fell into step beside her.

“Hello,” he said.

She looked around quickly, clearly startled at his sudden appearance. Immediately, he could see that she looked tired, with bags beneath her eyes and the suggestion of a frown tugging at the corners of her lips, looking out of place on features so beautiful. But when she saw him, a smile appeared like the sun shining through clouds.

The fact that _he_ had made her smile so brightly gave him a satisfaction that not even his evening tumbler of whiskey could achieve.

“Oh, Rupert!” she said. It struck him, with no small level of joy, that she had remembered his name. No one ever remembered his name; even his co-workers occasionally called him “Rudolph,” or “Randy,” or any other R-name that could be found by flicking through a baby names book. (He suspected that they were doing it on purpose, as a joke at his expense, rather than out of genuine forgetfulness.)

“That’s me,” he replied, the inescapable smile returning at just the sight of her. “Surprised you remembered.”

“Course I did,” she said. “I can’t stop and chat, though – have a bus to catch.” She pulled a face, presumably at the mere thought of getting on the bus, and her nose scrunched up adorably.

He pounced on the chance she had given him and spoke before he could truly consider it.

“Would you want to carpool with me?” His nerves were exposed by the catch to his voice, and he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, and he felt his heart react with a few quick beats.

“That’s kind of you,” she said after a momentary pause. “But I don’t drive. S’why I take the bus.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “Where do you live?”

“Erm, you know Grange Close?”

He did: it was about a twenty-minute drive from his house, in the opposite direction to the university, and would more than double the amount of time it took him to get to work. But he would wake up before the sun’s rays had had a chance to stretch over the horizon and drive for hours if it meant he would be able to sit in a car with her every day – well worth it, if he could convince her it wasn’t an inconvenience.

“That’s on my way,” he said. The false cheer he had injected into his lie was clear to him and he hoped she wasn’t too observant. “A mate of mine lives in the next road along.”

“Oh, really?” She looked uncertain and he fought to keep his panic concealed, maintaining an earnest mask even as his palms began to feel clammy.

“Honestly, it’s no trouble. You’ll add five minutes to my journey, max,” he said, then added, “and I live alone. If anything, it’ll give me some company.”

He knew he had her the moment her sceptical expression softened, the hard lines around her eyes smoothing over until it was as if her indecision had been nothing more than a product of his over-active imagination.

“Okay, yeah. thanks,” she said. Rupert smiled, careful to only let loose a portion of his glee. “Oh – I’ll pay you, obviously.”

“No, don’t be silly,” he said, and when it looked as though she was about to argue, added, “just buy me a coffee now and again, and we’ll call it even. Sound good?”

She was silent for a few tense seconds, those honey-like eyes analysing him in such a way that he could see why she was a Doctor of Physics. Just as he thought she had caught on and was about to call him a creep and storm away like all the others, she smiled and said, “Sounds great.”

He smiled back at her, not bothering to hide his relief.

* * *

It had been an agonisingly long and empty weekend, but eventually Monday came around again.

Rupert had picked out his best t-shirt (one of the few without some sort of stain on the front) and had sprayed himself with enough cologne to drown out any potential body odour caused by his nervous sweating.

Because all morning Rupert had been very nervous – nervous enough that he hadn’t been able to stomach more than a few bites of porridge around the butterflies in his stomach, and his hands had been quivering so hard that he had had difficulty locking his front door.

But now, sat in his car outside of her house, watching as she descended the steps with a cheery wave, he felt his nerves retreat. The anticipation that had wrapped itself around his throat and pooled in his stomach had melted away at the sight of her, smiling in that radiant way of hers.

It was another dreary Monday morning in Sheffield, but the sun still somehow lit up her hair, creating a warm halo of silky gold as if it were a midsummer’s day. That same warmth clasped around his chest, thawing him against the frigid temperature of his car’s broken heating. It was enough that he barely noticed the rush of cold air as she opened the car door.

“Mornin’,” she said. She busied herself with putting her seatbelt on, so Rupert was able to gather himself enough to stop staring just as she glanced up at him. “Thanks again for the lift. Beats the bus any day.”

That first drive with her in the car was one Rupert didn’t think he would ever forget. He had never had much luck with friends, let alone with beautiful women; yet the woman beside him made him feel as though he had a chance at both. She chatted to him as if they had been friends for years – asking about his work and friends, and telling him about her own friends, or about needing to decorate her house, or about which student she’d decided was “brilliant” that day.

He hadn’t taken her for the secretive type, but when he asked about her life before Sheffield, she only gave a vague answer about travelling before changing the topic. It was jarring when compared with how eager she was to talk about her friends – three people called Yaz, Ryan and Graham, apparently – and made him all the more intrigued by her.

Over the next week, it became something of a routine for Rupert to pick her up in the morning and then wait for her by his car in the evening. It was an incredible rush to know that he was most likely the first and last face she saw each day – but with every high, there came a crash.

It felt strange, sitting on his threadbare couch in his empty house after dropping her off. He felt no real attachment to his home. It was faded and worn, but had been eroded by time, not love.

All over the house, there were ghosts of a time when the place had felt lived-in and homely – someone’s antique analogue clock on the mantlepiece; old photos in freshly-dusted frames; a bottom drawer of undisturbed, carefully-folded ties. They were all memories of a happier time – memories that Rupert had been unable to shake. Now, they only existed to distract from how empty the house felt, like hanging a painting over a hole in the wall.

With her, however, Rupert stood a chance at relieving the gaping loneliness which had been lining the pit of his gut for so many years. She made him _feel;_ pulled away his creeping negativity and then gave it back, wrapped in a smile of pure sunshine. With her, the overcast that had been hanging over his life for over ten years thinned, allowing some of the long forgotten light back in.

The evenings had quickly become an almost ritualistic part of Rupert’s day; he treasured them greatly, although they didn’t hold a candle to those moments where the two of them were alone in his car. Still, the more private moments, where he could sit down in the dark and scroll through his camera roll, were special.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision to start taking photos of her. It had actually happened quite by accident one day. His usual parking spot at her curb had been taken, so Rupert had been forced to park a little way down the road. She had looked breathtakingly perfect as she looked around, the wind whipping at her hair as she tried to find him.

He hadn’t put much thought into it when he had snapped the photo – he’d almost forgotten he had taken it until he got back home and saw the camera app on his phone was still open.

From then on, it had become a habit of his. At any chance he got, at any point where she wasn’t paying attention to him, he would take a photo of her. They weren’t well taken, and the poor quality of his phone’s camera meant a lot of them were out of focus, but he never deleted a single one.

One particular evening, halfway through their second week of carpooling, he had, on a whim, decided to wait outside of her house after dropping her off. He itched to see the more domestic side of her – the side that wasn’t always thinking about work or her students. Did she like a glass of wine with her dinner? Was she into trash TV? How long did she spend preparing for work the next day? He had even inserted himself into the scene: he imagined them cooking together, watching TV together, getting ready for bed together—

After only half an hour of waiting outside her house, shrouded by the darkness of a winter afternoon, Rupert had spotted her in the window of what he presumed was her bedroom. Just before she disappeared again, he’d managed to snap a photo.

Now, sitting alone in the gloom of his living room, Rupert stared at that photo, his eyes flicking over every pixelated detail until they started to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise the fam show up in the next chapter lol


	2. Chapter 2

Yaz watched as Graham brushed his thumb over the delicate, circular engravings on the fob watch.

It was beautifully antique; even if Yaz hadn’t been there to see the Doctor give it to Graham, she would have believed it was older than she could imagine. Yet while it felt grand and timeless, it simultaneously appeared as delicate as her grandma’s china collection, its safety reliant upon the locked glass door of a cabinet.

Or perhaps this quality was less to do with the watch, and more to do with the consciousness currently inhabiting it.

“I can’t believe she’s in there,” Yaz said. She must have said it nearly a dozen times over the past three – nearly four – weeks, but the words still rang true.

It had been a month since a scarily panicked Doctor had given them a rushed explanation of the Chameleon Arch. A month since their friend had disappeared, only to be replaced by a shell of a woman who believed herself to be a human called Grace Smith.

Seeing the Doctor as anything other than in complete control of a situation was violently jarring. It went against everything Yaz had grown to believe over the years they had been travelling together, popping her bubble of belief in the unstoppable nature of the Doctor. It revealed to Yaz the vulnerable, frightened woman who lurked in the shadow of her bravado, hidden in a way that Yaz realised must have been very deliberate.

While the Doctor had been insistent on the second name Smith – and on the first name John, until they had talked her out of it – Graham had surprised Yaz by suggesting she take the name Grace. His suggestion had clearly caught the Doctor off-guard as well, as she finally paused in her flurry of motion, a finger poised above a switch she was ready to flick. She had glanced over at Graham from beneath her strange metal crown – a crown which, seconds later, had had her screaming and dropping to her knees in what Yaz could only assume was agony – and had thanked him, quietly and sincerely.

It had been a month since the Doctor had left them, and Yaz had hated every moment of it.

“What if the watch doesn’t work?” asked Ryan. “What if we open it and nothing happens?”

“Don’t think like that, son,” said Graham. “We’ve gotta trust the Doc.” He gently placed the watch on the dining table, as if the slightest jostle would hurt the Doctor. Maybe it could – it wasn’t as if the Doctor had given them much instruction other than “don’t open it, and definitely don’t lose it.” While she had no intention of doing either, Yaz would have appreciated a little more direction.

“She’s not exactly given us much reason to trust her,” said Ryan grumpily. “She said she’s in trouble, but what kind of trouble is she in? Are we in danger?”

The thought of the Doctor willingly putting them between herself and danger was almost enough to make Yaz laugh. As it was, she had been in a bad mood since the Doctor had left – especially when talking about said woman – and so it just aggravated her.

“The Doctor wouldn’t do that,” she said sternly. “She seemed… scared. Whatever it was, she probably had a good reason to hide away.”

“And leave us?” said Ryan. Yaz was surprised at the amount of resentment Ryan seemed to be harbouring toward the Doctor. While Yaz did tend to be the most willing to follow the Doctor of the three, she hadn’t thought Ryan was so far behind.

“She’s not left us,” said Graham. “The TARDIS is just ‘round the corner if we need it, and we’ve got the watch.”

They all looked at the watch, sitting unassumingly between them. It would take very little to damage it, and one forgetful moment to lose it. If the Doctor facing down armies was her at her strongest, then this, by far, was her at her most vulnerable – two extremes so very few would ever achieve, and she had somehow been both.

“Don’t you think it’s weird being around her?” said Graham, breaking the brief silence. “Grace, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, she’s lovely… just, she’s so similar to the Doc, yet so…”

“Human,” said Yaz.

“She did say Grace would be a human version of her,” said Ryan.

“I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal.” Graham frowned. “I almost forget it’s not really the Doc, but then she’ll come out with something so _normal,_ and it…”

Despite his loss for words, Yaz understood how Graham felt. Hearing the Doctor – _Grace_ – talk about physics, or something she was equally as passionate about, felt like having the Doctor back. Yaz could almost close her eyes and trick herself into believe it was true. But then Grace would speak about shopping, or work, or what film she had watched the night before, and the difference between Grace and the Doctor became a staggering chasm, splintering through the illusion that the Doctor was with them.

And while it was nice to have those moments of sentimentality, it made it so much harder to move past missing the Doctor. Because no matter how close Yaz got to being over it, those moments where the Doctor would shine through in Grace made the loss fresher. It made it so that no matter how close she got, the wound never quite heal before it was torn open again with an obscure fact, or an excited ramble about science.

Yaz wasn’t about to voice all of this, though. She wasn’t the only one struggling to adapt, and she now suspected that Ryan was having an especially difficult time. So, rather than spilling her woes to her troubled friends, Yaz brought up something else that had been playing on her mind; “I just don’t understand how we’ll know when to open it.”

“Yeah,” said Ryan, looking worried. “What if we leave it too long? Or what if we open it too early and put her in danger? Then all of this would have been for nothing.”

“You two need to get out of the ‘what ifs’,” said Graham. “The Doc said we’d know when to bring her back. She trusted us, so have a little bit of faith in yourselves.”

It was at times like these that Yaz really appreciated Graham’s company. While conversations with him were often grounded in sarcastic humour, he possessed a level-headedness that could only come from experience. It was the perfect contrast to hers and Ryan’s worry-fuelled imaginations.

“You’re right,” she said, shooting him a small smile. “It’s just hard _not_ to think about it. Life without the Doctor’s weird now. I thought it might be nice at first – you know, having some time to just be normal again. But going back to the police just feels _too_ normal.”

“I know what you mean. Retirement’s not exactly what it’s chalked up to be.”

“S’pose we’re lucky to have Grace in our lives at all. I’d’ve hated it if we couldn’t see her.” Yaz couldn’t bear the thought of having to watch from afar as the Doctor went about her life as a human. It would have been horribly tempting to make some sort of contact, no matter how small.

At this, Ryan seemed to perk up from where he had been slumped in his seat, re-joining the conversation with a cheeky smile. “One thing I’ve been wondering, though,” he said. “What’s the Doctor gonna do when she comes back and realises she has a boyfriend?”

Yaz nodded, and then paused as realised what he had said. “What?”

“Come _on,_ Yaz,” said Ryan, still grinning. “Tell me you’ve seen her with that barista at the coffee shop.”

“Have to admit, even I’ve noticed that,” said Graham. “Didn’t think the Doc was even capable of flirting, but it’s clear as day.”

Ryan snorted. “I’m not sure I’d call it flirting.”

Yaz knew what coffee shop they were talking about; it was one they frequented with Grace, around the corner from the university. Yaz was even certain she knew which barista they were talking about, but couldn’t say the idea that they were flirting had even once crossed her mind.

“How have I missed this?”

“Been turning a blind eye?” Ryan said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up.”

To her chagrin, Yaz could feel the blood flooding to her face. Thankfully, Graham either wasn’t listening to the exchange, or decided not to comment on it. “Well, Grace is a _human_ version of the Doc,” he said. “What’s more human than love?”

“You make it sound like she was a robot before,” said Ryan.

Yaz picked at her fingernail: a nervous habit from a few years ago, picked back up in the last couple of weeks. “Say she _is_ interested in this barista—”

“She is.”

Yaz ignored Ryan— “When she comes back, what’s she gonna do?”

“Don’t think we’re the ones to answer that,” said Graham, looking as though he was fighting a smile.

Ryan had no such conflict. “Just imagine,” he said, glancing between them surreptitiously. “The fearless Doctor travelling through time and space, fighting crime with her barista boyfriend.”

Yaz was unable to stop herself from laughing at the bizarre image.

“Now that I would pay to see,” said Graham, his smile breaking through. “But considering how the Doc is… well, the _Doc,_ I can’t see it happening.”

“Yeah. Even thinking about it is weird,” said Ryan, shaking his head as if physically dispelling the thought from his mind.

Eager to move on from the topic of the Doctor’s love life, Yaz said, “Speaking of weird, these aliens she’s running from… we don’t even know what they look like. How will we know if they’ve found her? We’ve been here for a month and everything’s been normal.”

“They’re aliens, Yaz,” said Ryan. “I don’t think it’ll be too difficult to spot them.”

“I think one look at the Doc will tell you that appearance don’t mean anything,” said Graham.

Yaz realised, as dread settled itself in her stomach, that he was right. Whatever it was the Doctor was running from could be right under their noses, and they would never be any the wiser.

“We’ll just have to keep our ears to the ground,” Graham continued. “Don’t suppose you’ve had any unexplained cases, Yaz?”

Yaz shook her head. “Nothing strange has come through that I’ve seen,” she said, and was suddenly struck by the realisation that for the past three weeks, she had been _disappointed_ by cases that she would have, before meeting the Doctor, been thrilled to be assigned. Now, however, the burglaries and missing persons and grand theft autos felt so small and inconsequential when placed next to the secret, incredible life she now lived. It was such a deep gulf of a contrast, that Yaz honestly couldn’t imagine herself ever wanting to go back to the monotonous cycle of waking up, going to work, and then returning to the flat she lived in with her parents, only to repeat it all again the next day. No friends, no life outside of work, and definitely no time-travelling with the most incredible person she had ever met. How could she possibly go back to _that,_ while knowing what was out there, just a TARDIS trip away?

This, she reasoned, may be a part of the reason for why she was struggling so much with adjusting.

She kept these thoughts to herself, shoving them to the back of her mind – a place from which they, like many others before them, would inevitably be dragged to the surface and pondered over during those sleepless nights where she was feeling particularly sorry for herself. Instead, she continued; “Couple of animal attacks, but that’s as weird as it gets. I’ll keep checking, though. Just need to be careful not to make my boss suspicious.”

“I asked around a few days ago and now my mates think I’ve gone nuts, so I’d be careful with what you say,” said Ryan.

“Well, to be fair, son, you did ask them if they’d seen anything that looked extra-terrestrial,” said Graham.

Ryan shrugged, seeming to find nothing wrong with his choice of wording. “Couldn’t think of another way to phrase it.”

Yaz couldn’t help but imagine the looks on his co-workers’ faces as Ryan asked them whether they had seen any aliens around Sheffield, and was unable to stifle a laugh. “How about any other way?”

“I think the only thing we can do until we hear about these aliens is keep an eye on Grace. Keep her safe in the normal, human way,” said Graham.

“That’s manageable,” said Ryan. “She doesn’t seem as danger-prone as the Doctor.”

Yaz agreed with Ryan – but to a certain extent. If the Doctor was a huge magnet for trouble in a world where the universe’s worst creatures and people were the south to her north, then Grace was something far more inconspicuous – like a fridge magnet, with barely the magnetism to hold its own weight. However, while she didn’t have the same world-ending problems as the Doctor, Grace was, physically and mentally, far more vulnerable. She was a friendly, trusting human woman with no memories of her long life as a Time Lord. Yaz wasn’t even sure she could regenerate in this state, and she wasn’t eager to find out. Grace was defenceless and for once, Yaz, Ryan and Graham were ones with all the knowledge. Between them, they shouldered the burden of the bigger picture, and it wasn’t lost on her how literal of a role reversal this was. But Yaz was determined to do for her what the Doctor had done for them so many times before. They would be the ones to hold out their hand and say “run;” they would be the ones to explain the unexplainable with nothing but a grin on their faces.

This time, they would be looking out for her.

* * *

Rupert leant against the doorframe to her office, hands in his pockets in what he hoped was a tastefully casual manner.

“Can you take a break?” he asked. It was a line he had practiced in the mirror countless times the night before, and once more for luck that morning.

She twirled around from where she had been leant over her desk, and when she caught sight of him, she smiled.

“Hi Rupert,” she said, shifting awkwardly. “Why, you need anything?”

He glanced from her to the paper she was not-so-subtly pushing behind herself – a scrap of notepaper covered in messy circles, strangely – then shot her a carefully practiced smile. There was no use scaring her away by enquiring about her private affairs, or whatever it was she was doing with that paper. That would have to come later, when their relationship had moved from thin ice – easily fractured with one wrong step – to thick.

“I thought maybe you could get me that coffee now. If you’re free, of course.”

This was all part of the performance – he knew her schedule as well as he knew his own. Through carefully worded questions and keeping notes of where she went throughout the day, he had a detailed ‘week in her life’ hidden in his breast pocket, scrawled in his rough handwriting.

“You’ve got great timing,” she said, as he knew she would. “I was about to grab some lunch.”

“Excellent.” He pushed himself off the wall with a pleased smile. “Anywhere in mind?”

“You know the coffee shop ‘round the corner?” she asked, predictably and without a moment’s hesitation. She frequented the place multiple times a week, always ordered a latte, and always chatted with the barista for too long. Rupert had never followed her inside, but a bench across the road offered a splendid view of her table by the window.

“Love that place,” he lied. “Their lattes are gorgeous.” Truthfully, he had only been there three times – the last two occasions out of convenience and a lack of an alternative, rather than a partiality for their drinks.

Her face lit up in a way that left Rupert’s mind a haze, and he immediately knew that any sub-par coffee consumed today would be well worth that expression alone.

“That’s my favourite drink!” she said excitedly. It was endearing how enthusiastic she could be over something so mundane as coffee. He was immediately reminded of the dog he had had as a child – a Labrador his mother had adored who, when cocking his head just right, could pull off the ‘puppy dog eyes’ even up until his death at the modest age of twelve. “I love how Tom makes them.”

Rupert’s delight at her happiness suddenly and violently crashed into sour revulsion. Tom. The barista at the coffee shop. Of _course_ she would bring him up. But Rupert wasn’t supposed to know who Tom was, so instead, he kept his expression plain and asked, “Tom?”

“He works there,” she explained. “We’re mates now, if that tells you anything about how often I go.” She laughed again, but Rupert stayed quiet; he wasn’t confident in his ability to make a laugh sound genuine and not like a dog’s bark.

“You like your coffee then, I take it?” he asked instead.

If she had picked up on his cooler disposition, she didn’t show it. “Can’t live without it. You don’t want to catch me in the mornings – a real zombie.”

That thought alone was almost enough to sweeten Rupert’s bitter mood – he could think of nothing he’d like more than to see her every morning, hands clasped around a mug of coffee as they sat together in the kitchen.

As they walked the few minutes it took to get from the university to the coffee shop, conversation went on as it usually did: she chattered on about nothing in particular, and Rupert listened attentively. Her chosen subject for today was one of her favourites – her time spent travelling before she had moved to Sheffield. As was quickly becoming par for the course, the details were kept so vague that he was beginning to believe that she had dreamt the whole thing.

Despite the grand effort he put in to appease her in conversation – namely, nodding at the right pauses and not asking for specifics – upon arriving, she spent a good ten minutes out of their shrinking hour chatting with Tom, while Rupert sat at her favourite table in the corner, his mood cooling with the lattes.

Watching those two together was worrisome, to say the least. She laughed – genuinely – at almost everything he said, and Rupert had watched with no small amount of animosity when Tom’s eyes lingered on her back as she walked over to the table. He hadn’t glanced at Rupert for any longer than it had taken him to hand over the coffees, obviously not considering him competition of any kind.

While Rupert had thought he’d have enough time to get her to fall for him, it was becoming clear that he needed to speed it along, or risk losing her to Tom.

He needed to know more about her. He needed to discover her likes and dislikes, her quirks and early memories – things that would have usually taken time and trust to uncover.

But this would be difficult to do when she refused to share anything of substance. He needed to see who she was without the performance she gave him at every carefully worded question – a way for him to reach out and draw the curtains to her mysterious life without interacting with her directly.

She sat down and took a sip of coffee, and Rupert’s fingers tightened their grip on his glass as she animatedly sighed at the flavour, then turned around to give Tom a thumbs-up.

Rupert made his decision.

He needed to see inside her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was finished almost a year ago and I'm just getting around to editing it lol. (It's like 36000 words)  
> I'd be eager to hear what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

The next day found Rupert hiding close to her office door, crouched behind an obnoxious potted plant that was far too big for the corridor it lived in. His janitor’s trolley was parked further down – too ordinary to be suspicious, but too far away for her to spot and recognise.

The slamming of a door nearby made him start, and he shrank as low as possible, keeping well out of sight as someone passed his hiding spot. Once they were far enough away, he slowly peered out from behind a large leaf and was pleased to see a very familiar blonde head rushing down the corridor.

If Rupert had timed this right, he only had a matter of minutes to get what he needed from her office, so wasted no time and slipped into the room.

The office was as cluttered as ever, with what must have been hundreds of books spilling from bookshelves and stacked on the ground. The desk was no better, covered in papers and odd trinkets and a half-empty packet of custard creams.

Strangely, Rupert noted that there was nothing personal. There were no photos of family, the likes of which took up the desks and walls of many of the other professors. Even the desktop background of her computer was the default image – one of the first things new members of staff changed.

He noted her as impersonal, perhaps to the extreme, and continued his search. It only took him two drawers to find what he was looking for.

Her handbag was sitting in the large bottom drawer of her desk, and he grabbed it and exited the room as quickly as he could. He didn’t let himself breathe until he was back behind the safety of that ridiculous plant, and relaxed as his pulse stopped pounding in his ears. He poked his head out and thankfully noted that there was no one around; she hadn’t returned yet.

With his heart barely having descended from his throat and the thrill of it making his hands shake, Rupert rapidly walked to his trolley and stashed the bag inside. Then, adopting a far calmer exterior, he wheeled it out to his car with no one any the wiser as to its abnormal contents.

The invisibility of a janitor did allow for a number of liberties to be taken – a key one being that he wouldn’t be missed if he disappeared for a short while.

In his car, his foot ached to push the pedal down and speed to his destination, but he knew he needed to show restraint. It wouldn’t do to be caught in the possession of a woman’s bag with no way of explanation except to lie. Pulling straight into a parking space, he rummaged through her bag, pushing aside a strange combination of snacks (heavily featuring more custard creams) and what could only be described as the kind of rubbish you would find at a scrapyard, before he pulled out her front door key.

Any other day, he would have basked in the chance to sort through her belongings, but time was of the essence.

The clerk of the shop stood from where he had been lounging with a magazine; it had obviously been a quiet day. “All right, mate?” the clerk said.

“Could you cut me a copy of this key?” Rupert asked, placing the golden key on the countertop. He didn’t fancy engaging in small talk.

“Sure.” The clerk took the key, turning it over in his hand. “Just moved, have you?”

“No.” Rupert fought to keep his tone friendly. The last thing he needed was for this man to become suspicious because Rupert couldn’t control his temper. “My wife lost hers.”

The clerk chuckled, although Rupert couldn’t begin to imagine what was so funny.

“My wife’s the same,” he said, shaking his head. “She breaks it, I fix it.”

Rupert smiled, but otherwise didn’t respond. The clerk apparently took the hint, and the sound of grinding filled the small shop as he started to cut the new key.

* * *

As he did at the end of every day, Rupert made his way to her office, car keys in hand.

Her door was open and, standing in the threshold, Rupert watched as she rooted through her drawers and looked under her desk, her movements growing frantic.

“Lost something?” he asked.

Her head shot up, inches away from hitting the edge of the desk. “My handbag!” she said, scanning the floor around her as if she could have possibly missed it in such an obvious spot. “I can’t find it.”

“Where did you last have it?” Rupert moved into the office, making a show of looking around.

He had intended on stashing the bag back in her desk, but both the danger of being caught and the possibility of the alternative – _this_ alternative – soon made his decision for him.

“I could’ve sworn it was in my desk drawer,” she said, gesturing to said draw, now hanging open and empty.

“Maybe you misplaced it.”

She shook her head, raking her fingers through her hair. “No, I swear it was there.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly sharp. “I think someone stole it.”

The strength of her gaze was unexpected and Rupert had to fight not to avert his eyes, feeling his face heat up. “Surely you would have noticed someone coming in?”

“Not necessarily,” she said. She glanced past him to the open door, then looked at him again. “Earlier today I got a call from reception saying my mother wanted to speak with me… only that’s impossible—”

“Why is it impossible?” As with every more personal enquiry, she ignored him.

“—And then when I came back, it was gone. They must have forged the call and then stolen the bag while I was out of the office.”

“Sounds like an extreme way to commit petty theft,” said Rupert, starting to doubt the perfection of his plan. He hadn’t expected her to cotton on so quickly – if at all.

“It’s the only explanation.”

There was a hardness to her expression that Rupert had never seen before. It was so different to the bubbly, happy-go-lucky persona she always wore, and seeing this new part of her made him crave more. How much of herself was she hiding away? All this time speaking to her every day, and he had barely scratched the surface.

He put that to the back of his mind to dwell on later and began the next phase of his plan. This would require all of his attention, if he didn’t want to slip up and compromise everything.

“Hang on – was the bag black?” he asked, feigning an epiphany, then held his hands apart, as if holding a shoebox. “About this big?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing from his hands to his face. The hardness was gone from her expression now, replaced by what could only be hope – directed at him.

His confidence restored, Rupert let himself savour the moment – where he was the sole person who could fix this issue for her, cradling her joy carefully in his hands. “Shiny?”

“Yes.”

“I think I might know where it is,” he said, and her face lit up in a brilliant smile. He couldn’t help but smile back, only just holding in a gleeful laugh. “I found a handbag like that in a bin outside. Put it in my trolley for safekeeping ‘bout an hour or so ago; good thing you mentioned it, I’d completely forgotten.”

He led her to the trolley, just a few metres away from her office, and retrieved the handbag from behind the curtain concealing the bottom shelf.

“Yes, yes, that’s it!” she said, immediately searching through the bag as he handed it to her. “I can’t believe it, thank you so much.”

He wished he could bottle this moment; preserve it in time for him to analyse over and over.

“Is everything still in there?” he asked.

“Uh – yes.” She sounded bewildered, her hasty movements stalling. “Well, they took my cash, but I only had a twenty in my purse. They’ve left my phone and cards.”

While Rupert hadn’t wanted to take anything from her, the theft of the bag needed to be believable, so he had stolen the absolute minimum, satisfied that it was a necessary evil. He had used the money to pay for the cut key and could feel the remaining change burning a guilty hole in his back pocket.

“The thief was probably only after cash,” he reasoned. It would do no good for her to become suspicious; while it was clear he wasn’t a suspect, it would only take one thought in the right direction to paint a target on his back. “With how high-tech the police are nowadays, anything else would be too risky.”

“I suppose.” She picked at the bag’s strap, fiddling with a loose thread, then glanced up at him with a smile. “Still, though. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, how about I drive you home?”

The car journey was silent as she went through her phone, checking that nothing had been tampered with. Her bottom lip was caught enticing between her teeth as she searched and, unbeknownst to her, this had been the cause of a few near-misses, with Rupert significantly distracted from the road.

Finally satisfied that her privacy was safe, she dropped the phone into her bag with a relieved breath.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “What did I tell you? Nothing to worry about.”

While comforted, there was an anxious tilt to her mouth as she said, “Still weird that they went through all that trouble just for a twenty, though. My friend Yaz is a police officer, maybe I could ask her what she thinks?”

That was the last thing Rupert needed. His hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel, his driving gloves squeaking as leather rubbed against leather. While he didn’t think anyone would open a police investigation over a missing twenty-pound note, he couldn’t afford to come into the police’s line of sight. And without the bias of being a friend, there was the chance that Yaz would see through his lies.

“Don’t think too deeply into it, you’ll only stress yourself out. I’m sure it’s just some dumb kid looking for video game money.” She snorted at that and he chuckled along with her, then decided it was best to change the subject. The sooner she forgot about the whole incident, the better. “So do you have any weekend plans?”

She perked up at this. “I’m actually out with a friend tonight. It’s kind of why I was so worried about my bag. No money and no phone wouldn’t exactly leave a great impression, would it?”

“Who’s the friend?” he asked, mentally scanning through the people she had interacted with recently. It was a short list, shortened further by the fact that she’d said she wanted to leave an impression. That ruled out Yaz, Graham and Ryan, and left Rupert fumbling in the dark.

Before she could answer, in a stroke of poor timing, her phone rang. It almost made Rupert wish he had kept the phone and pretended it had been stolen along with the twenty-pound note.

“Oh, sorry, it’s Graham – you mind if I take this?”

“Not at all,” he said, the silk in his voice smoothing out the lie.

Rupert spent the last five minutes of the journey in stony silence, mulling over what her Friday night plans might entail and who this mystery person was. Meanwhile she sat beside him, chatting obliviously to Graham about her missing bag and gushing over how Rupert had found it.

On any other occasion, Rupert would have been swelling with joy at hearing her speak so highly of him. But today, all he could think about was her and her mysterious evening plans.

* * *

“Ryan!” Yaz’s voice sounded breathless down the phone, as if she had just skidded to a stop from a full sprint. Ryan immediately sat upright from where he had been lazily slouched in his desk chair, dropping his PlayStation controller on the desk.

“Yaz? What’s up?”

“I can’t talk for long, but I think those aliens are here.” Her voice was quieter now, and Ryan couldn’t help but picture a horrible scenario in which Yaz was hiding from something dangerous enough to frighten the Doctor.

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

There was a pause, then she said, “I’m fine, just at work so I can’t talk too loud.” Ryan felt his heart settle and he sat down shakily, as Yaz continued, “But I’m pretty sure it’s them. There’s been a death, and they’re planning on calling it another animal attack for the media, but – Ryan, apparently the _heart’s missing_.”

The thought that the Doctor could be hiding from heart-stealing aliens was enough for his own heart to speed up again in this rollercoaster of a phone call. “What?”

“They’re trying to keep it on the down-low, but—”

“Hold on, Yaz, I’m gonna get Graham.”

Ryan moved to the living room where he could hear Graham on the phone. He must still be talking to Grace – another one of their evening phone calls. Ryan was happy enough to leave the phone conversations with Grace to Graham, because as much as he loved her, Grace could talk about as well as the Doctor, and make just as much sense.

Ryan could hear Grace’s chatter on the other end of the phone as Graham looked up, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“Aliens,” Ryan mouthed to him. He put the phone on loudspeaker while Graham hurriedly fabricated an excuse in order to end the call with Grace.

“What’s this about aliens, Yaz?” asked Graham, having hung up on Grace. Ryan wasn’t sure whether the shake to his voice was because of the aliens, or because of the inevitable questions from Grace after hanging up on her. No doubt he’d have to call later with a well-thought-out excuse and an apology ready.

“Well, I don’t _know,_ but… I mean, could it really be a coincidence that a man’s heart has been ripped out while there are aliens hunting the Doctor?”

 _“Heart_ ripped out?” repeated Graham, his face looking considerably whiter.

Ryan shrugged in response to Yaz. “Could be. Maybe it really is a wild animal.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learnt while being with the Doctor, it’s that there’s no such thing as coincidences.” Hearing Yaz’s tone of voice, Ryan could almost picture her face; her jaw set in determination, her eyes hard and piercing. It was an expression she wore when she was deadly serious about something, and there was nothing Yaz was more serious about than the Doctor.

“Right,” Graham said, having recovered from his shock. He lifted his head from where it had been resting in his hands, dragging his palms over his face as he did so in the perfect image of an exasperated father. It was a persona he had begun to wear more and more frequently around the Doctor. “I’ve just spoken to Grace over the phone and she seemed okay. Was going on about a stolen bag.”

“I don’t think they’ve found her yet,” said Yaz. “But they’re in Sheffield, so they’ve obviously found _something.”_

“Anything else you can tell us, Yaz?” asked Graham.

“No, but the call’s only just come in. I’ll stay here for a bit longer in case something else comes up.”

“All right, well… stay safe.”

“You too. Speak to you guys later.”

Ryan and Graham looked at each other for a moment, silence hanging heavily around them once Yaz had hung up.

“I think we need to be keeping a closer eye on Grace,” said Graham.

“We could ask her to move in?” It was a spur of the moment suggestion, delivered without conviction.

Graham raised his eyebrows, predictably unconvinced. “You really think she’d be on board with that? An independent woman with her own house, sleeping on our couch just because we asked her to? As much as the Doc liked our sofa, I doubt even she’d go ahead with it, no questions asked.”

Privately, Ryan was glad Graham had vetoed his idea. Living with the Doctor was loud and chaotic; even when they took breaks from visiting other planets and times, she would always be fixing something, or building something, or showing them something she thought was cool (but more often than not was either perplexing or disgusting, or both). Ryan suspected Grace would create far less of a ruckus, and though to most people peace would be preferable, it would be too strange and would only serve to highlight the missing part of their lives.

“We can’t exactly follow her around all day either,” said Ryan.

“We might have to. Or at least invite her out for coffee or over for dinner more than once a week.”

In terms of protecting Grace from aliens who apparently removed the hearts of their victims, it was a paper-thin idea. However, at the moment it was the only feasible one they had.

Letting it go for now, Ryan decided to ask about something significantly more normal. (Although Ryan’s sense of ‘normal’ had been ripped to shreds in a matter of TARDIS trips.) “You said she lost her bag?”

Graham frowned, scratching his temple with a finger. Ryan thought it was subconscious, but it was something he had begun to do when the Doctor was being particularly confusing.

“It got stolen, apparently. She’s convinced the gits rang her, pretending to be her mum just to get the bag. Then they stole twenty quid and stashed it in a bin.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in, though when it did, Ryan was no less puzzled. “What?”

“I know. I thought it sounded long-winded just for a twenty, but she’s adamant that that’s what happened.”

“You reckon it was the aliens?” Ryan asked, hesitant to even voice his question for fear that they could have found her. “Bit of a coincidence that the Doctor – er, Grace, has her bag stolen on the same day we discover they’re in Sheffield.”

“We don’t know for sure that they’re here,” said Graham, although he sounded as though he believed his statement about as much as Ryan did. They had been on countless adventures with the Doctor, and Ryan liked to think that they were learned enough to recognise something alien when they saw it. And this definitely gave Ryan the same chill that many of the other creatures they had come across gave him. “But I have a hard time buying that heart-eating aliens would be bothered with stealing a woman’s handbag rather than just killin’ her.”

“The Doctor would probably investigate it.” Ryan wasn’t sure why he said this. It just seemed to slip out, perhaps as an attempt to fill the hole the Doctor had left behind. Discussing what to do about aliens was far further out of his comfort zone now that there wasn’t a clear leader with knowledge surpassing all three humans combined.

“The Doc’s not always right, son. And I’m starting to believe she makes half of this stuff up on the spot – honestly, the things she comes out with.” Ryan could tell Graham was trying to lighten the mood – bring the tone of the conversation back around to something positive, as he somehow always managed to do. If the Doctor could regenerate her body and read minds (or whatever it was she’d told Yaz she could do), then Graham’s superpower was this.

Ryan huffed a laugh. “Yeah, she’s definitely odd.”

“That might be underselling it.” Graham put his hands on his knees and stood, a sign that the end to the conversation was in sight. “Bloody lucky, though. If it weren’t for her being mates with that janitor, she’d never’ve found it.”

“He found her bag?” Ryan asked curiously. Grace had begun speaking about her “new janitor friend” a week or so after the Chameleon Arch, although Ryan, Yaz and Graham had yet to meet him.

“Yeah, the same one who’s been giving her lifts every day.” Graham shook his head. “Dunno how she swindled that.”

“She must’ve made quite an impression.”

“Yep. Typical Doc, that is. Making friends where most people would make enemies.”

Ryan strongly disagreed. For someone so friendly, the Doctor had a plethora of enemies, including something as outrageous as a ‘best enemy’. People didn’t have best enemies – especially not people who made friends wherever they went.

He kept these thoughts to himself, however. He suspected they were the result of him allowing a seed of negativity toward the Doctor to grow and flourish in her absence, and so had no business being shared with people who clearly still thought very highly of her.

“She’s aptly named,” continued Graham. If he had noticed Ryan’s silence, he didn’t comment on it.

Ryan swallowed the grief that went hand-in-hand with the mention of his nan. Grace – the Doctor’s Grace – had been remarkably easy to separate from his nan, which was why he hadn’t objected to her taking the name. But these moments, though few and far between, where similarities were drawn between the two, felt like pressing fingers into a healing wound.

Graham blinked away his own reminiscence from where it had gathered in the corners of his eyes, speaking with a voice that was too forced to sound truly cheerful. “Right, I’m gonna make a cuppa. All this is making my head hurt.” He stopped on his way to the kitchen and looked back at Ryan, who had yet to move from his seat. His voice softened, some of the pretence flaking away as he said, “Why don’t you organise something with Grace? Keep her from being alone this weekend?”

“Yeah, all right,” replied Ryan. He’d have to call Yaz about that later, but for now, he rested his arms on his thighs and clasped his hands, thinking about how suddenly their lives had turned completely inside-out.


	4. Chapter 4

It was 3 AM as Rupert approached her house, the darkened street lit only by the orange glow of the streetlamps and the moon. He tugged the collar of his jacket further up around his face, both against the cold and to shroud his features in shadow as he ascended the front steps.

The new key slotted into the lock soundlessly, a perfect mould of the original, and Rupert slipped into her home, closing the door softly behind him. The click of the latch was quiet, and what little noise there had been outside was cut off, like he had stepped inside of a vacuum.

Rupert glanced around the space, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

It wasn’t a large house and was mostly open plan, as these newer houses often were, with plain walls and a hardwood floor. The entire place was spotless and to Rupert’s eye looked more like a showhome than a lived-in house. The few books scattered across the coffee table were the only indicator that someone inhabited the space; beyond that, it was vastly impersonal, with no pictures on the walls and no magnets or notes on the fridge.

Truthfully, Rupert wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The featureless nature of her house had surprised him – especially since she seemed to radiate personality – but he was desperate to know more about her. It was far too risky to go upstairs, despite how badly he wanted to see her bedroom – to see her _sleeping_ – but he reminded himself that that was something he may see in the future. He just needed to learn more about her – a difficult task when her house was too plain to even tell what her favourite colour was.

He searched through empty drawers and sparce shelves, and had begun to consider heading home when a glint of metal caught his attention. On her kitchen counter sat a laptop, the logo on the closed lid shining in the dim light cast through the window. He was surprised he had almost missed it. Glancing behind himself irrationally, knowing there could be no one there, he moved over to it and opened the laptop.

Immediately, shockingly white light made him blink rapidly as spots of colour blotted his vision, and the cheerful tone of the laptop coming to life seemed to echo through the house. Rupert froze, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he strained to listen over the sound of his own beating heart. He stood frozen for several seconds, ready to believe he hadn’t woken her up, when he heard movement from above him.

Panic seizing him, Rupert glanced around for a place to hide before he raced across the living area and hid himself behind one of the floor-length curtains, praying he wouldn’t be seen through the pale fabric.

“What was that?”

Her voice was a whisper, but it pierced the silence of the house like a piano key in an empty theatre. Rupert dared to peer around the edge of the curtain as two – two! – figures bathed in shadow emerged from the stairs. The beam of a torch swept across the room and Rupert quickly ducked his head back behind the curtain, holding his breath. Thankfully, the curtains were thick enough to hide his outline.

“Must’ve been your laptop.” This was a man’s voice, and it was one Rupert instantly recognised. A surge of furious jealousy swept through him, engulfing his fear, and he had to fight to not jump out from behind the curtain and demand to know why the barista from the coffee shop was in her house at three o’clock in the morning. Because he knew why – Tom was the friend she had seen that night, although from the looks of things, he was definitely more than a friend.

The idea of her being intimate with anybody other than himself made Rupert feel queasy, but he forced himself to focus and listen from his place in the shadows.

“It’s never done that before,” she said. Rupert dared to peer out from behind the curtain again and saw Tom lean over her shoulder to take a closer look at the screen.

“It’s only powered up,” he said, then pushed the laptop closed. “Probably just a freak of technology.” He glanced at her, his voice suddenly teasing. “Then again, they do call this the witching hour…”

“But I swear I left it shut,” she said, ignoring his teasing. “And after today with my bag, it just feels…”

She tapered off and Tom immediately sobered, bringing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head as she leant into him. Rupert’s fingers clenched into fists, gripping the curtain so hard he began to lose feeling in his fingertips. “Don’t let yourself get paranoid over some idiot kids.”

Rupert’s narrowed eyes burnt hatefully into their backs as they disappeared up the stairs, the bedroom door clicking shut a few moments later.

He remained behind the curtain for a long while after, every second marked by his searing, vivid thoughts about her and Tom, and what they could be doing behind that closed door. What their night together might have involved. Rupert cursed his imagination, finally stepping out from behind the curtain and out of his mind.

With one last glance around the blank home, Rupert left, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Yaz frowned at her bedroom ceiling, not quite awake enough to feel guilty for wishing she had placed her phone on silent. Unaware of the disruption she had caused to Yaz’s much-awaited Saturday morning lie-in, Grace chattered away in her ear. What kept Yaz from outright asking her to call later was the uncertainty in Grace’s voice. While she wasn’t the Doctor – a fact that Yaz had to routinely remind herself, but was also unable to forget – it was strange to listen to her worry about something so trivial as theft.

What had Yaz’s life become, that she considered theft to be trivial?

“I don’t know,” Grace was saying, “something about it just doesn’t sit right.”

“I’d be more surprised if you were dismissive of it,” said Yaz. While it was an attempt to lighten the mood, Yaz herself was feeling anxious. The Doctor had uncannily accurate instincts, and Yaz had no reason not to believe that these instincts had carried over to her human form. “Did you go to the police?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Yaz couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking, but it made her smile nonetheless.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Nah, it’s only a twenty, and I got everything else back.”

“Lucky, that,” said Yaz. Her fingers fiddled with the bedsheets as she thought. She had never met the janitor who found the bag – Rupert, according to Grace – but there was something about him that Yaz didn’t like. She wasn’t sure whether it was caution over her vulnerable friend becoming too close to someone, or the Doctor’s disbelief in coincidences having wormed its way into her brain, but something was bugging her.

The thought of protecting Grace reminded her of a conversation she had had with Ryan the night before. “Oh, that reminds me. Did you get Ryan’s message about going out tonight?”

“I did! I can’t wait!” Grace sounded so excited; Yaz could picture the Doctor having the same level of enthusiasm for a night out with her fam.

“I take it you’re coming, then?”

“I _love_ dancing,” said Grace, with a surprising amount of conviction. Yaz had to hold back a laugh at the sudden image of the Doctor dancing. For some reason, she could imagine her as having the coordination of a baby deer. “But, um, I was actually going to ask…”

There was the human side to Grace that always managed to bring Yaz crashing down from any high she got pretending to herself that she was talking to the Doctor. The insecurity in her voice threw Yaz for a moment, and she stumbled to regain her footing.

“Uh – ask me what?”

“I was wondering if I could bring someone along?” Yaz couldn’t remember ever having seen the Doctor embarrassed, so it took a moment for her to pinpoint it in Grace.

Curious over who Grace could possibly want to bring (and why she suddenly sounded so shy), Yaz asked, “Who?”

There was a small pause, then Grace replied, “You know Tom? From the coffee shop? I was thinking of asking him.” That hint of bashfulness had now flooded her voice and despite herself, Yaz felt a smile stretch across her face. Ryan and Graham had been right about Grace’s crush on the barista.

“I didn’t know you and Tom were so close,” she said teasingly. It wasn’t every day she got the chance to tease someone who was so often several steps ahead of anyone who shared a space with her.

“He, uh – he actually stayed the night last night,” Grace said. “He asked me out for dinner and some drinks and, well…”

Yaz was stunned into silence. For some reason, she had expected Grace to be a don’t-kiss-on-the-first-date kind of person.

“Yaz?” Grace sounded hesitant, and Yaz shook herself out of her thoughts and sat up in bed.

“Sorry, I’m just surprised. You’ve never mentioned him before!”

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up, y’know? But it’s such a relief that he actually likes me!” This was the girliest, most bizarre conversation Yaz had ever had with the Doctor. She hadn’t been convinced that the Doctor even understood the concept of dating, let alone cared for it enough to be nervous and flustered over someone she fancied. “Our date went _so well_ , and we – uh.”

Yaz felt her own face flush at the half-admission, but couldn’t help but nudge her to continue; “Go on.”

She hadn’t had many female friends growing up and had never been to a sleepover, but Yaz imagined that this was the kind of conversation teenaged girls stayed up at night whispering about – gossiping about boys and dates. She was starting to see what all the fuss was about; there was something thrilling about living vicariously through another person’s love life, even if a smaller, guilty part of Yaz felt a certain negative emotion toward Tom. It was something she didn’t want to unpack.

“He came over for biscuits,” Grace said. “Can you _believe_ he’s never had a custard cream before! … But then it became more than biscuits. Not really sure how it happened, honestly—” she chuckled nervously— “but it was _amazing.”_ Grace’s excited voice suddenly turned thoughtful, as she said, “I actually don’t remember the last time I did that.”

Worried that Grace was about to uncover some gaps or inconsistencies in her memories, Yaz quickly moved the conversation along. “You should definitely invite him,” she said. Then, suddenly craving the sleepover experience she had missed growing up, impulsively added, “You could get ready at mine! My parents won’t bother us.”

The short silence as Grace considered the request was enough for Yaz to feel inexplicably self-conscious, and she opened her mouth to take it back in a fit of embarrassment, when Grace said, “Yes, you speak my language! But I don’t know how to do makeup, or hair, or _anything_ like that. I don’t even know what to wear!”

Yaz laughed, equal parts relieved and amused. “How about I get ready at yours? Then I can try and help you.”

The familiarly enthusiastic “Brilliant!” Grace gave in response was almost enough to bring tears stinging at Yaz’s eyes.

* * *

Stood before Grace’s open wardrobe later that evening, Yaz tried not to show her disappointment.

While she wasn’t surprised by the very limited selection of clothes, she had secretly hoped for something a little more.

Predictably, the wardrobe was crammed with an unorganised combination of Grace’s work clothes and casualwear, without a single dress in sight. She didn’t even have a ‘jeans and a nice top’ option – something Yaz religiously opted for. She hoped the heels weren’t a mistake, trusting that a night out with Grace wouldn’t involve the copious amounts of running that it so often did with the Doctor.

“When you said you didn’t know what to wear, I didn’t think you meant you literally had _nothing_ ,” she said, brushing a hand through the clothes.

Grace just looked confused, staring at the clothes as they swayed on their clinking hangers. “I could have _sworn_ I’ve been to posh things before! But I don’t remember what I was wearing.”

The TARDIS had been extremely thorough with creating a life for Grace; surely it wouldn’t have dropped the ball here, of all places?

“Hang on,” said Yaz. “You must have something.”

Starting from one end, Yaz pushed each item of clothing to the side as she made her way down the wardrobe, until finally, at the back, she spotted something tucked under a black suit jacket.

“Here, what’s this?” she said, pulling it out and into the light. It was a plain, off-the-shoulder dress in TARDIS-blue, and Yaz thought it suited Grace perfectly. Everything she owned was basic, from the leggings she wore on the weekends to the empty house she inhabited. She was like a connect-the-dot: complete, but void of colour.

“Of course!” Grace grinned and took the dress from Yaz. “How could I forget this?” Yaz suspected it was because this was the first time Grace had actually ever seen it, but she kept that piece of information to herself.

The next hour or so was spent eating snacks and chatting while Yaz styled Grace’s hair into gentle waves. It was a surprisingly pleasant time – Yaz had been trying to keep as emotionally distant from Grace as she could, but she was quickly realising that it had been foolish to hold her at arm’s length. She was her own person – different from the Doctor in more ways than a few missing memories.

“Sit here and I’ll do your makeup,” Yaz said, swinging her legs up to sit cross-legged on the white sheets. Like the rest of the house, Grace’s bedroom was impersonal and blank. The only fragments of personality Yaz could see was a framed photo of the fam Yaz had gifted to her over a month ago, an ever-growing stack of books piled beside the bedside table, and a dying plant which sat, forgotten, on the windowsill. She had tried to bring up the idea of decorating – she had even suggested they all help out, an activity she knew the Doctor would have jumped on – but every time Yaz tried speak to Grace about making the house more personal, she would laugh her off, or make promises Yaz knew were empty.

The only explanation she could think of was that Grace was struggling to make her house feel homely. Perhaps some deep, hidden part of her knew it wasn’t her home. No interior decorating could make this 21st century terraced house feel like the TARDIS, with its glowing crystals and console and the feeling that it was genuinely alive – something that Graham struggled to get his head around.

Grace got up from the floor and sat on the bed, facing Yaz with an excited expression. “How would you like me to do it?” Yaz asked.

She was expecting Grace to say something childish or extravagant, like “rainbow” or “sparkly,” but instead she surprised Yaz and said, “Can you do it like yours?”

Yaz’s hand stilled, hovering halfway inside the makeup bag beside her. “Like mine?”

“I like the way you do your makeup.” Grace had adopted that voice the Doctor often used when she was telling them something she considered to be painfully obvious. It usually came hand-in-hand with a pang of embarrassment, or perhaps frustration at the Doctor’s social obtuseness. But Grace sounded more earnest than impatient, and Yaz found herself feeling rather flattered. She looked down at the makeup bag so Grace wouldn’t see her cheeks flush.

“Oh, thanks,” she said. “Sure.”

There was no foundation or concealer to match Grace’s skin tone, but luckily she had no need for it. For someone whose diet consisted of mostly sugary snacks, the Doctor had a perfect complexion. She wasn’t sure whether it was a Time Lord thing, or whether the Doctor was just lucky, but whatever it was, it was almost enough for Yaz to feel a very girlish streak of envy.

Grace sat perfectly still, staring into Yaz’s eyes as if they contained the mysteries of the universe, unaware of Yaz’s drifting thoughts. She didn’t know that Yaz genuinely had many of the answers Grace didn’t even know to ask, and it felt strange to be the one in the know for once, even after weeks had passed.

Right now, she knew the Doctor would be flinching, or complaining, or asking her to hurry up. Grace, by contrast, was silent, and although her face was creased in concentration as she tried to keep as still as possible, she was the perfect canvas. Yaz could feel a budding fondness for Grace growing with every interaction, and desperately hoped they got the Doctor back before it got to the point where she appreciated Grace’s company more than she missed the Doctor’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really struggled with getting this chapter right for some reason. Also had to cut it in half bc it was like double the length of the others haha.   
> Also, just realised that all the italics from a chapter get removed when I upload it, so I've had to go back and add each one individually. So enjoy the first three chapters, now with feeling


	5. Chapter 5

“I haven’t been to one of these in years!” Grace scanned the club with a childlike excitement that seemed at odds with the location, speaking loudly over the heavy music. 

Yaz had never enjoyed clubbing (just as well, seeing as though she had never had anyone to go with), but Ryan, who considered himself something of an expert, had insisted that this was one of the better places in Sheffield. It certainly seemed popular, with people crowding the dancefloor and packed so close together at the bar that it was almost hidden from sight. 

“Think the last time was when I was travelling around South America,” Grace said. “Wait – or was it Thailand?”

“Maybe it was both,” said Ryan. 

“There you are!” Yaz heard a familiar voice from behind her, calling to them over the music. 

Grace smiled widely as Tom approached their small group, gathered together by the wall. “I was worried I’d got the wrong place.”

“Hey!” Grace said, as Tom wrapped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her upturned lips. 

As they greeted one another, Yaz felt Ryan lean down to subtly whisper in her ear. “It’s so odd. Like seeing a teacher outside of school.”

She nodded in agreement. Watching the Doctor in such an intimate moment was possibly both the strangest and the most painful thing Yaz had ever seen – which said a lot, considering what she had spent the last couple of years doing. It seemed more alien than any of the Doctor’s other, _actual_ alien quirks. 

“Guys,” said Grace, as Tom pulled her into his side, “this is Tom. Tom, this is Ryan and Yaz. My best mates.”

While Tom was an attractive man, Yaz wondered what it was that had drawn Grace to him. The textbook version of ‘tall, dark and handsome’, there was nothing extraordinary about him at all. Then again, she supposed this went well with the blankness of Grace’s entire life. Of course she would be interested in someone who looked like the default character option for one of Ryan’s PlayStation games. 

A thought suddenly struck her with such an intensity that she fought not to flinch. Was Grace’s preference in romantic partner so basic and inoffensive, because the TARDIS had had to invent it? When the Doctor saw humans, was she able to separate the beautiful from the plain? Or were they all the same to her, like apes in a zoo were to humans? It was an unsettling thought, and Yaz found she couldn’t quite shake it. There was a lot about the Doctor she didn’t know, and much of it Yaz knew she may never discover, secretive as the Doctor was. But now that she was aware of the question and its plausibility, she couldn’t think past it. 

Tom’s voice tore her from her troubled daydreaming; “What about for you, Yaz?” It took her moment of thought to realise he had offered to buy the first round. “Any preferences?”

“Anything non-alcoholic,” she replied. 

“You’re our resident designated driver, then?” he said, smiling charmingly. 

“Always am.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Grace, as if Tom might actually consider removing his arm from around her waist. 

“Careful,” Ryan said to her, as Grace and Tom made their way over to the bar. “You’re turning green.”

It took Yaz a moment to work out what he meant, and when she did, she bristled indignantly. “I’m not jealous!” she said, pushing him lightly as he laughed. 

“Let’s find a table,” he said, still grinning like he was very pleased with himself, but thankfully dropping the topic. 

It didn’t last long, however, as once they were seated at a booth, Ryan said, “Seriously, though. What do you think?”

“Of Tom? Hard to tell. He seems nice enough.”

“She seems to really like him,” Ryan said, and Yaz opened her mouth to argue, expecting it to be another barb about her ‘jealousy’, before he added, “It’s a shame it won’t last.”

That pulled her up short and she looked over at the bar, although she couldn’t spot the pair amongst the crowd. “You think it won’t?” she asked, genuinely curious. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but now that it was clear the pair were becoming something more serious, it did bring up the issue of what would happen when the Doctor inevitably (hopefully) returned. 

“Grace doesn’t exist – not really.” Ryan spoke bluntly, and although Yaz had known this to be true for as long as she’d known Grace, hearing it stated so matter-of-factly after spending the evening with her was unsettling. “When the Doctor comes back, the person he fell for will be gone. Would he even want to stay with her? I mean, that’s even if he finds out. She might just leave and not tell him.”

It dawned on Yaz that Ryan had put some thought into this. 

“Besides,” he said, “I can’t imagine the Doctor being with him. Can you?”

“I can’t imagine her being with anyone,” she replied, feeling an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Because it was true: the Doctor was brilliant and wild and so much more than anyone Yaz had ever met. The idea of her settling down was impossible to imagine. 

“Suppose we’ll just have to let them enjoy it while it lasts,” said Ryan, his voice strangely tense. 

“Yeah,” she said, watching him carefully. “Suppose so.”

It wasn’t long before Tom and Grace reappeared, a drink in each hand. “Beer for Ryan,” said Tom, placing a pint of beer on the table, “and a lemonade for Yaz.”

Other than a murmured “thanks,” Yaz wasn’t sure what to say. Her mind was still turning over what she and Ryan had discussed and weighing its implications, but she was saved from any awkward silences by Grace. 

“We’re going to dance!” she said, hanging off Tom’s arm with a dark drink in her hand. The apples of her cheeks were swollen with the force of her smile and her eyes were bright with joy. She looked so happy, and Yaz was suddenly struck by how heavy the Doctor’s burdens must be, for her smile to look so different when she wasn’t laden by her own memories. “You guys wanna come?”

Yaz couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less right then, than dance. “I’m good right now, thanks,” she said. 

“You guys go ahead,” said Ryan. “We’ll join you in a bit.”

Yaz watched as they made their way onto the dancefloor, but had to look away when she saw Tom’s hand move to the small of Graces back. She pulled her lemonade toward her and fiddled with the straw. 

“What’s eating you?” asked Ryan. 

“What?” Yaz asked, pulled from her thoughts. 

“You’ve been quiet since we arrived.” He nudged her shoulder with his own and she smiled down at her glass. 

“I’ve just been thinking about the Doctor,” she said honestly. 

Ryan sighed heavily through his nose and sipped his beer. “Me too.”

Encouraged by his response, Yaz elaborated. “I mean, I miss her, obviously. But do we even really know her?”

“What do you mean?” She glanced at him and noticed that he looked interested rather than confused, as if he was genuinely curious to see what she thought. 

“We’ve been travelling with her for at least a year now, but we still don’t really know anything about her. Being around Grace… it’s made me realise how much the Doctor’s holding back.”

Ryan was silent for a few moments as he fingered the condensation on his glass, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same. I thought she was our friend, but…” Ryan’s eyebrows creased together, and Yaz stayed quiet as he collected his thoughts. She had known there was something about the Doctor that had been bothering Ryan for a while now, and it seemed like he was finally going to open up. “She left us, just like that. A few quick words and she was gone. We don’t even know how long for, or really why she left, or _anything.”_

Yaz nodded slowly, beginning to understand. “Does it bother you ‘cause of what your dad did?” she asked carefully, hesitant to break the unspoken agreement to not mention Ryan’s dad. 

Instead of the defensive response she half expected, however, Ryan’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he said, sounding defeated. “I can’t believe she did that. After chewing my dad out for leaving me… she goes and does the same thing.”

“You understand it’s not the same though, right?”

Ryan scoffed. “Yeah, she’s a time-travelling alien we met when she fell through the roof of a train. Not like she has a responsibility to stick around.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know she would never leave us like this, she was trying to keep us safe. I’m sure when she comes back, she’ll explain everything.”

There was a pause; _“if_ she comes back” hung in the air, but remained unsaid. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Ryan eventually. He sighed heavily and, for the first time in the conversation, made eye contact with Yaz. “Think I’m just worried for her. We’re relying on so much we don’t even know.”

Yaz was suddenly reminded of the reason they were there, and quickly looked over at where Grace and Tom were still dancing. What kind of police officer was she, to forget something so important? “Speaking of, you seen anything suspicious at all?” she asked. 

“Hm?” Apparently, Ryan had also forgotten. 

“What we’re here for – keeping an eye on Grace. Seen anything out of the ordinary?”

“Oh, right.” Ryan turned in his seat, looking around the club in a way that was so conspicuous that Yaz almost pulled him back around again. “Can’t see anything,” he said, turning back to her. “Honestly, I doubt they’d hit a place as busy as this if they’ve been keeping so low-key. S’why I chose it.”

“And it had nothing to do with the alcohol?” Yaz asked as her eyes drifted back over to Grace and Tom. They were dancing closer together now and her hand was clasped loosely in his. 

Ryan scoffed dramatically. “Course not. And Yaz… I know this isn’t really your scene. So thanks for coming.”

“It’s fine.” Grace seemed to slow down with her movements as Tom did, their eyes locked as they moved closer still. 

“Didn’t really feel like doing this on my own, you know? And it would’ve been weird with Tom here too. Don’t fancy third-wheeling.”

Yaz was only half listening now. When she didn’t reply, Ryan turned to see what she was staring at and whistled lowly. 

“That’s proper weird,” he said. Grace and Tom were kissing in the centre of the dancefloor, her arms around his neck and is hands low on her waist, illuminated in flashing lights like stained glass.

To Yaz, it was more than weird. It gave her a strange, tight feeling in her chest and, unable to watch any longer, she looked around the club for something else to occupy her eyes. Somehow, a lone figure sitting at a table in a dark corner caught her attention. The man was nursing a bottle of beer as he watched the dancefloor, a deep frown on his face. 

“Ryan,” she said. “Is that the janitor from the university? Grace’s mate?”

“Rupert?” Ryan looked over to where she gestured, squinting. “Looks like it. Isn’t he a bit old to be here? Doesn’t look like he’s having a good time.”

Ryan was right; if Rupert’s scowl told them anything, it was that he was hating every second. Then why was he here?

“Yeah,” said Yaz, but before she could say anything more, Grace appeared in front of them, sans Tom. She had another drink in her hand – how she had managed to get another so fast, Yaz didn’t know – and she smiled brightly as she swayed on the spot to the music. She was off the beat by a mile, but was either too drunk to notice, or simply didn’t care. 

“Come and dance!” she said, grabbing their arms. “I love this one!” Yaz thought the song was indistinguishable from the rest, but she let herself be dragged to the dancefloor with Ryan. 

“Where’s Tom?” asked Ryan, leaning close to Grace so he could be heard over the music. 

“Went to the loo,” said Grace, shouting louder than necessary. Her smile didn’t falter. “Said the next round’s on him.”

“Again?” Ryan asked, and when she nodded he cheered and spun her around by the hand. Grace laughed as she turned, her face the picture of bliss. Yaz felt a pang of grief at how strange that expression looked on the Doctor’s face – at how that expression would disappear with Grace once the watch was opened. 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen; Grace’s smile had at some point slipped and she had begun to look around, distracted. 

“Tom’s been gone for a while,” Ryan said casually. He must have also picked up on Grace’s change of mood too. Yaz dearly hoped that Tom hadn’t left or found another woman; she’d arrest him on the spot, police code be damned. 

“Yeah,” said Grace. She stopped dancing. “Maybe I should go look for him.”

“I need the loo anyway,” said Yaz. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

If Tom really was with another woman, she didn’t want Grace to discover it. Her job was to protect the Doctor, and while the aliens were the biggest priority, Grace’s innocent happiness was quickly moving up the list. She was developing a fondness for the woman that wasn’t quite the same adoration she had for the Doctor; it was an individual emotion, fit for an individual person. 

Yaz had almost reached the men’s toilets, weaving through sweaty bodies as they danced around her, when a commotion to her right caught her attention. There were two security guards pushing people back and away from the doors to the outdoor smoking area. Behind them, Yaz could see medics rushing outside. 

Allowing Tom to slip from her mind for the moment, Yaz curiously approached one of the security guards, pulling her police identification badge from her bag. Travelling with the Doctor and her psychic paper had taught Yaz the value in carrying a label of authority. 

“What’s going on here?” she asked, holding up the badge. “I’m police.”

The first security guard glanced at the badge, then said bluntly, “A man’s died.” 

“What?” Her stomach plummeted like a stone dropped in water.

“The body’s only just been found.” He shifted to the side. “You can go through.”

A strong breeze of cold air hit her as the left the stuffy building, and she wrapped her arms around herself, regretting leaving her jacket in the car. She moved to where three medics and a third security guard were crouched beside a body lying on the ground, and a terrible feeling permeated through her. 

She didn’t want to move closer – didn’t want to confirm what she suspected – but she did so anyway, stepping forward until the face was in view. 

“Tom,” she whispered. 

His eyes were open and blank, his dark pupils staring sightlessly up at the sky. His mouth was slightly agape like he was deep in sleep, without a shadow of his charming smile to be seen. 

“You know him?”

Yaz was dragged from her quiet horror by a young medic with kind eyes. 

“Not well,” she replied, her voice cracking a little. “Friend of a friend.”

The mention of Grace, however indirect, made her knees feel weak. She would be devastated. 

“I’m sorry for your friend,” said the medic, sounding as though she really meant it.

Yaz nodded absently, unable to drag her eyes away from Tom’s lifeless body. She hadn’t known him well, but she had _known_ him. She’d known where he worked, what he drank, what his smile was like – she’d known how much he cared for Grace. And now all of that was gone. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there for, but when her phone started to vibrate in her bag, she felt significantly colder. She answered without checking the caller ID, her fingers quivering with what could equally be shock or the cold. 

“Yaz, where are you?” asked Ryan, his voice barely audible over the music. Yaz had almost forgotten there was an entire club behind her. “Grace is getting worried.”

Finally finding her voice, Yaz cleared her throat and said shakily, “Come to the smoking area.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s not good.”

By the time Ryan and Grace appeared, Yaz had managed to reign in her emotions, letting her police training take over. 

Grace’s hand was clasped in Ryan’s as they moved past the security guards (who let them through after a nod from Yaz); she was nibbling at her bottom lip, her eyes darting about the place, looking the picture of anxiety. Yaz couldn’t think of anything to offer as reassurance. 

“What is it?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “What’s happened?”

“I’m sorry,” said Yaz, looking her in the eye. “It’s Tom.”

“What? What about Tom?”

In Yaz’s experience, sugar-coating the truth was very rarely the best option. Still, it didn’t make it any easier when she looked into Grace’s expectant, fearful eyes, and said, “He died.”

There was silence between them, hanging heavily in the chilled night air, and then Grace whispered, “Died?”

Yaz fought against the tears burning in her eyes, willing them not to fall for the sake of her friend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand… how…”

Worried that Grace was on the edge of collapsing, Yaz steadied her with her hand. “Shall we sit down?”

Grace shook her head, removing her hand from Ryan’s as she looked past Yaz. “I want to see him.”

Are you sure?” asked Yaz, putting as much warning as she could into those three words. 

“I need to,” she said, with eyes that looked so old and so determined that Yaz wondered for a heart-stopping moment if Graham had opened the watch. But then Grace stayed, as if waiting for Yaz to move first, and Yaz knew the Doctor was still lost to them. 

She gathered herself, then shared a glance with Ryan, who looked about as shell-shocked as she felt. With a gentle hand, she led Grace to Tom’s body, now with a blanket covering his upper half. 

Yaz nodded to the kind-eyed medic, who wordlessly lifted the blanket. 

_“No,”_ Grace cried, her hands quivering as they cupped her mouth. It was quiet but wretched, and so jarringly alien coming from the Doctor’s mouth. 

Had it actually been the Doctor, Yaz would have merely stood nearby as a comforting presence, or perhaps touched her arm in condolence. But this was Grace – vulnerable, human Grace – and so Yaz pulled her into a hug as she sobbed on her shoulder, her fingers curling into the material of Yaz’s top as she hugged her back. 

“I’m so sorry,” Yaz whispered, stroking the soft waves of Grace’s hair as a single tear finally dropped down her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan roughly wipe at his own cheek with the cuff of his sleeve as he sniffed quietly. 

She watched over Grace’s shoulder, hugging her tighter as the police arrived. 


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a long and arduous night.

While Yaz hadn’t been involved in the investigation into Tom’s death due to her personal association, the officers assigned – one of them a man called Dave, with whom Yaz had been a probationary police officer – had promised to keep her updated.

Now, at almost four o’clock in the morning, Grace was sleeping in Ryan’s bed upstairs while Yaz, Ryan and Graham were sat around Graham’s dining table.

“Poor soul,” said Graham softly, breaking the quiet that had settled around them.

“She was heartbroken,” said Yaz, running her fingers through her hair in a gesture she had repeated many times that night. Once drawn into a neatly styled plait, her hair was now hanging loose and dishevelled down her back.

Graham shook his head miserably.

“D’you think it was the aliens?” asked Ryan, tugging his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Graham’s house was always pleasantly warm, but there was comfort to be drawn from being wrapped in a blanket.

“I asked Dave what the cause of death was. Non-conclusive at the moment, but he said it looked as though he'd been attacked.”

“So they're calling it murder?” said Graham.

Yaz nodded. “Probably.”

“What are the chances that someone close to Grace is murdered, and it’s _unrelated_ to the aliens chasing her?” asked Ryan.

“I’d say low,” replied Graham.

Yaz hesitated; while Ryan had a point, there were still gaps in the logic. “But why would they not just kill her?” she asked, shaking her head absently as she worked through the problem. “If they were there last night, then they only would’ve needed to wait for the chance, like they did with Tom.”

“Maybe it’s a warning?” suggested Ryan.

“Why would they give a warning to someone they want dead?”

“They could be frustrated,” said Graham. “Maybe they can sense she’s somewhere close but can’t tell who she is. I’d bet to aliens, all of us lot look the same. Like that planet we went to a while back – the Doc said there were hundreds of races, but I couldn’t tell the difference between any of ‘em.”

“Wait,” said Ryan, and Yaz internally braced herself for another question too hypothetical for this time of night – or technically, morning. “If this was the aliens, then does that mean the heart-thief actually was an animal?”

Yaz shook her head tiredly. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. It was too much too fast. She felt as though they were reaching a terrifying climax – like they were hanging over the edge of something they couldn’t see the bottom of.

“This is so messed up,” muttered Ryan, and Yaz agreed heartily. Everything about this was so wrong: Tom’s sudden death, Grace’s grief, the ambiguity surrounding the whole situation. It felt like there were too many factors to grasp onto at once; too many pieces to keep track of.

There was a sombre silence between them, before Graham rose from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. The noise wasn’t loud, but it shot through Yaz like a bullet. “There’s nothing more we can do for her tonight,” he said. “I say we catch some shut-eye and look at it with a fresh pair of eyes in the morning.”

“You take the sofa, Yaz,” said Ryan. “I’ll get the blow-up mattress sorted.”

“I can go home,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction to even her own ears.

“Na mate, it’s late.”

“We’ve all had a tough night, cockle,” said Graham gently. “Grace especially. She’s gonna need all of us tomorrow.”

* * *

Ryan was awoken by the sound of the kettle clicking and he sat up, the blow-up mattress groaning as he shifted.

It took him a moment to remember why he wasn’t in his own bed, and why Yaz was sleeping on the sofa, but when he did, he wanted nothing more than to fall back to sleep. Memories of the night before plagued him, and for a moment he felt a bizarre envy of Yaz, still blissfully asleep and unaware.

Berating himself for the show of self-pity, he shuffled tiredly into the kitchen, careful not to wake Yaz.

“Grace?” Ryan had been expecting to see Graham, standing at the counter in his striped pyjamas with a steaming mug of tea in his hand. Instead, he saw Grace, who jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around to face him.

She covered her surprise with a small smile. “Mornin’ Ryan. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He glanced at the digital clock on the oven – 7:26. Too early for a Sunday morning.

“Na,” he lied. “I never sleep well on those beds.”

Despite her smile, Ryan could see the shadow of a frown in the lines of her face; as if the smile was too much effort to hold, and as soon as his back turned, a frown would swallow it whole. She looked exhausted, too, with her hair a frizzy mess and the dark circles beneath her eyes exaggerated by the smudges of mascara from the night before. The t-shirt collar of the pyjamas he had lent her nearly hung off her shoulder and the pyjama bottoms pooled on the ground, completely covering her feet like a child wearing clothes they hadn’t yet grown into. She looked small and breakable, and so, _so_ unrecognisable as the Doctor.

Grace was quiet for a moment as she sipped her tea. It must have been boiling hot, but she didn’t react at all. “Thank you, by the way. For the room and the clothes.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “We weren’t about to send you off home.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she didn’t say anything else; just took another sip of her tea. Apparently, she wasn’t going to be the one to start this conversation.

Ryan decided to bite the bullet, coming to lean against the kitchen counter beside her. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a very ungenuine laugh. “It all feels like a dream, like at any moment he could call…” She breathed out shakily, her hands trembling around the mug they clasped, looking as though they would lose their grip at any moment. She didn’t seem to notice. “He was supposed to be working today.”

Ryan stared at the wall ahead of them, momentarily lost in thought. Then he said, “It felt like that when Nan died.” In his peripheral vision, he saw Grace look up at him.

Ryan understood her grief; while his wasn’t quite so fresh, he still felt his nan’s absence in everything he did. It was the worst when he was trying to sleep – his mind would try to fit her into different scenarios and wonder what it might have been like had she been there. Would she be happy for him? Proud? Scared? Knowing his nan, all of the above.

“Comin’ downstairs and expectin’ her to be making tea. Thinking over and over about all the things she’s gonna miss… the things she’s already missed. Even the smaller stuff, like wanting to show her a video I think she’ll like, or something on the news I think she’ll find interesting. It don’t go away.” He looked at Grace and could see the red rim of her eyes and the way they shone just a little too brightly. “It gets easier, though. Friends help. They can distract you, give you something to focus on until the pain… dulls.”

“How long does that take?” she asked, her voice slightly nasal.

Ryan shrugged. “Depends on the person.”

“I didn’t even know him that well. Not like you knew your nan.”

He held her gaze, steady and serious. “Doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

Her eyes darted between his, and then she nodded and glanced at the floor. “I don’t know why it hurts so much,” she said. “I just really liked him.”

Ryan had never been good with words like Yaz, or with people, like Graham. But something he had heard a couple of years ago flew to the front of his mind, as if volunteering itself to be mentioned. It was cheesy, Ryan thought, but it was perfect. “A friend of mine once told me she coped with loss by keepin’ them with her in everything she did.” Grace looked back up at him in interest. “She said it made them a part of who she was, so that even though they were gone from the world, they were never gone from her.”

Grace gave him a smile that was small but genuine, and Ryan felt pleased at having got something right. “She sounds smart.”

Ryan smiled back at her wryly. “The smartest. Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

“Where is she now? How come I’ve never met her?”

Ryan could have laughed at how much she reminded him of the Doctor in that moment: the curious little crease between her eyebrows, the shimmer of her eyes turning from sadness to intrigue.

“She’s not here right now,” he replied. “She left. Not forever, but… I do miss her.” Then, realising that this bizarre chance at self-therapy wouldn’t come around again, Ryan couldn’t help but say, “I was mad at her for a while, I think. When she left.”

Grace tilted her head at him, clearly somewhat thrown by the admission, but willing to listen.

“But Yaz helped me see that I was… _mostly_ just projecting.”

“Is this something you’ll talk to her about, when you see her?”

Ryan couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. “Maybe.”

Grace snorted good-naturedly as his ambiguous reply. “Seems like we’re all missing someone,” she said. Rather than sad, though, she sounded nostalgic, as if the Doctor was picking apart the mysteries of the universe from somewhere deep inside Grace. “You know, sometimes I feel like I’m missing something of myself.”

Despite the warmth of the kitchen, Ryan felt a shiver run down his spine. “Something like what?” he asked, not quite wanting to hear the answer. What if she realised her memories weren’t real? What if the Doctor was forced to come back before it was time?

She twisted her mouth in thought. “I’m not sure. Probably makes me sound crazy, but sometimes my memories seem fuzzy, like I can’t quite touch them. Or – no… it’s more like I’m not supposed to look too hard. All the stuff before Sheffield, it’s like a dream. And I’ve been having dreams – really weird ones! I tried drawing them, but they just ended up looking like circles.”

She was hitting dangerously close to the truth and, in a moment of panic, Ryan nodded to her mug of tea and said, “Sounds to me like you’ve had a bit too much caffeine.” Without context, he sounded indifferent and rude. Unfortunately, he was the only one in the conversation with any kind of context.

If Grace took any offence, however, she didn’t show it. “I’m serious! I know I had parents, but I can’t picture them. And I know they’re dead… but I don’t remember _how_ they died. Isn’t that something that’s meant to stay with you?” She was looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, but continued before he could put together a response; “And the places I’ve been to all seem to loud and bright and wonderful, but I can’t _focus_ on it. It’s like nothing was truly cemented until I moved to Sheffield. Does that make sense?”

Despite his efforts to contain it, something about Ryan’s face must have been telling of his building worry, because the curious shine to her eyes was extinguished in a second and she looked into her mug glumly. “I must sound like a crazy person.”

“You don’t,” he said, quick to reassure her. It was unfortunate that the first time she had really opened up to someone was the one conversation they couldn’t let her have. “You’re probably just stressed out, and then after yesterday… I wouldn’t blame you for not feeling completely normal.”

He didn’t mean to sound so dismissive of something he would otherwise have given his full attention, but he couldn’t let her dwell on it.

“I don’t know why I told you,” she said, still looking into her mug. Ryan felt like kicking himself for letting the conversation become so derailed. Hadn’t she suffered enough without one of her closest friends dismissing serious concerns of hers as ‘stress’? “Maybe it’s a grief thing.”

“Everyone reacts in different ways,” he said, trying to gain some sort of traction back, even knowing that it was by now a lost cause. “Give it a few weeks and you might feel differently.”

“Yeah,” she said, although her tone of voice suggested that she didn’t quite believe him. “Maybe.”

He watched her as she sipped her tea, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he had royally messed up this conversation.

* * *

It was three days later that Yaz came to Graham’s front door, rapping on the wood until her hand hit air.

Graham stood in the doorway, looking ready to complain about the incessant knocking, but something in her expression must have given her away. Rather than complain, he stood to the side and held the door for her.

“Another three murders,” said Yaz.

“Hello to you too,” said Graham as she marched past him, leading the way to the kitchen where Ryan was waiting.

“There’ve been more?” asked Ryan. They – the three of them and Grace – were supposed to be having dinner together that evening, but Yaz had arrived early, wanting to give them the news before Grace turned up.

“Yeah, hearts gone and everything,” she said.

“So what does this mean?” asked Graham.

“They’re still calling them animal attacks,” she said. “But I know no one at the precinct believes that. Apparently, the higher-ups don’t know what to do and they’re keeping it from the media to prevent mass panic.”

“Could mean the Doctor’s disguise isn’t working,” said Ryan. “I mean, the aliens obviously know she’s in Sheffield.”

“Either that, or it’s just a coincidence that they’ve decided to attack Earth in the exact place the Doctor is hiding,” said Yaz.

“Knowing our luck, I’m gonna go with a faulty disguise,” said Graham. “Maybe we should just give her the watch?”

“Are you crazy? She told us not to open it!”

“She told us not to open it before the time is right, _and_ she said that her human self wouldn’t open it until the time is right, whatever that means. I’d say it’s safe to give it to her.”

While this was true, there was still so much the Doctor had left out in those tense, panic-fuelled minutes leading up to her transformation. Yaz didn’t want to make a wrong move and stumble while the Doctor’s life was cupped delicately in her hands.

“But why would we even want to?” asked Ryan.

“Suppose the aliens do find her, and we’re not there. Wouldn’t it be better for her to have some sort of failsafe?”

Yaz was still unconvinced. Grace was a naturally curious person, and despite whatever the Doctor had said, there was still the chance that she would open the watch prematurely. “Still sounds too risky to me,” she said.

“Everything we do is risky,” he replied. “Look, the Doc gave it to me for a reason. And I’m going to trust her trust in me, and trust myself to make the right call.”

“What?” said Ryan, looking about as confused as Yaz felt.

“I’m giving her the watch.” Graham was a natural comedian, with the ability to lift even the surliest of moods. It was seldom that he was so serious about something, so she felt inclined to offer him the same trust the Doctor had.

“Fine,” she said, then pointed a finger at him. “But if this goes wrong, I’m telling the Doctor we warned you!”

It was another half hour before Grace arrived, looking decidedly perkier than when they had last seen her. While she had taken the Monday off work (at Yaz’s insistence), she hadn’t let them talk her into taking the rest of the week to grieve. Although, considering how much better she looked, Yaz supposed the distraction had been good for her.

It felt almost normal, having the four of them sat around the table together, and once dinner had been cleared and they were winding down in the living room, Graham took the fob watch out of his pocket. Yaz watched him unhappily, a complaint on the tip of her tongue, but said nothing as he called Grace’s name.

Grace glanced from Graham to the watch curiously. “What’s that?”

“It’s yours,” said Graham, holding it out to her. Grace looked at it for an inordinate amount of time; Yaz could see Graham growing apprehensive, and was beginning to feel the same, when Grace smiled.

“No it isn’t,” she said, in a manner far too casual for the object held before her. Not that she would know.

“It is.”

Grace scrunched her nose in a very Doctor-like fashion, and Yaz almost had to look away from the afterimage of her friend. “Well I’ve never seen it before.”

“Trust me,” said Graham. Grace watched as he handed it to her, clearly baffled by Graham’s odd behaviour. “It’s yours.”

She looked him in the eye, then traced her fingers delicately over circular patterns which, in another life, she would have recognised as her native language. Yaz had always thought it looked beautiful. She wondered if one day the Doctor would speak it for them, or perhaps teach them some of the basics.

“It’s really pretty.” Grace closed her fingers around the watch and smiled brightly at Graham, apparently assuming it was a gift he was attempting to not make a big deal of. “Thanks.”

There was silence between them as Grace studied the watch with a peculiar look on her face. Graham shifted uncomfortably and after a few moments Ryan cleared his throat, apparently unable to handle it any longer. “Grace, you any good at Mario Kart?”

 _“Oh.”_ Grace’s head snapped up. The strange expression was gone, replaced by a grin and a competitive spark in her eyes. “I’m _brilliant.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I've never actually seen the chameleon arch episodes lol


	7. Chapter 7

Rupert knocked solidly on the door three times. At the sound of footsteps on the other side, he straightened his posture and brushed a hand through his thinning hair in a hasty attempt to neaten it.

The door opened, revealing sleep-tousled sunshine-blonde hair and an equally blinding smile.

“Rupert?” she said. “You’re early.”

She wasn’t yet dressed for work, still in the loose t-shirt and patterned trousers she must wear to bed. Rupert thought she looked delicately domestic.

Realising he might be staring, he dragged his gaze back up to her face.

“Just thought you might like some company for breakfast,” he said. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… you’ve not been yourself the last couple of days.”

She looked surprised and when she took too long to answer, Rupert hurriedly added, “I can wait in the car if you’d like. I really don’t mind. Just thought you could use the company.”

Her shock quickly melted back into that lovely smile and she shook her head lightly. “I was just surprised. That’s a very sweet thought, thank you.” She didn’t confirm whether or not she had been sad, nor did she offer an explanation, and Rupert didn’t ask. “Come in, I’ll make you some tea.”

“That would be great, thanks.” He followed her inside and made a show of looking around, as if it were his first time there. As he leant against the island counter while she moved about the kitchen, a vase of flowers caught his eye. While in any other house flowers would be unassuming, they seemed out of place in one so void of character. “Nice place. I like the flowers.”

“Yaz brought them ‘round on Tuesday. Aren’t they gorgeous?” She sounded as though she truly believed it, but Rupert thought they were the wrong shade of blue and too wilted to be pretty.

Still, he didn’t want to spoil her mood. “Nice colour,” he said.

“Blue’s my favourite,” she replied.

She was uncharacteristically quiet after that, but Rupert didn’t think it was an uncomfortable silence; just unusual. He was content to simply watch her, imagining a life where this was his view every morning – imagining what it would be like to have a routine with her.

It wasn’t long before she placed a steaming mug in front of him, leaning against the counter beside him with her hands clasped around her own.

Her pyjama shirt had a lower neckline than anything she wore to work, and when his eye was inevitably drawn down to her neck, a glint of silver caught his attention. “New necklace?” he asked.

For a fraction of a second she looked confused, then her expression brightened in realisation. “Oh! You mean this.” She pulled the chain put from beneath her shirt, revealing what looked like a pocket watch. “It was a gift from Graham.”

“Your friends are very kind to you,” he said, leaning forward to take a closer look. The watch was well designed, with interesting engravings covering the lid, curiously similar to the ones he had seen her drawing in her office. He caught her eye and nodded to it. “May I?”

She paused at this, her eyes flicking briefly between him and the watch with a hesitancy Rupert found intriguing.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” he said, giving her his best impression of a reassuring smile. She seemed to buy it, and reluctantly pulled the chain over her head, dropping it into his waiting palm after another moment’s hesitation.

He turned it over in his hands, analysing it from all angles. “It really is lovely,” he said. His mother had been a collector of antiques, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. She would have adored it. “Does it work?”

“No,” she said immediately, then winced and clarified, “Well – I don’t know. I don’t want to open it.”

“Why?” he asked. “Afraid it’s spring-loaded?”

Despite the fact that he hadn’t said it jokingly, she laughed; it was forced and had a nervous edge. He would have said he preferred her genuine, musical laugh, but there was something to be said about hearing her unease so clearly. He had never witnessed it before, and something about that excited him, alighting in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s just a feeling I get. Like it shouldn’t be opened.”

“Surely it can’t hurt?” he said. “Then you could use it as an actual watch.”

“I still don’t want it opened,” she replied, her voice far tenser now. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she shifted uncomfortably, looking between him and the watch. “Actually, could I have it back now?”

“Why?” he asked, finally turning to face her. She looked at him incredulously.

“Because it’s mine.”

Rupert could tell that he was toeing a dangerous line, but he felt too caught up in the thrill of the interaction to put a stop to it.

“You didn’t know it was yours until yesterday!” He just about caught himself before a smile gave him away; it wouldn’t do for her to know how much he was enjoying this, especially not when she seemed to be taking it so seriously.

“It doesn’t matter.” She held out her hand and gestured for the watch, clearly becoming agitated. “ _Please_ , Rupert.”

An electric thrill shot through his stomach at hearing her beg. Before him stood the object of his fascination, all of her attention on _him._ He had the control here; for perhaps the first time in his life, _he_ was the one with the power.

“It won’t hurt to open it,” he said, moving his thumb slowly toward the clasp holding the watch shut.

“It will!” she cried. The sheer emotion in her voice gave him pause; when he looked at her, he saw that she appeared as surprised as he was.

“Why do you say that?” he asked curiously.

There was a pause between them, so tense it was almost physical, before she gave her head a little shake and flexed her waiting hand. “Just give me the watch. _Please_.”

Rupert’s eyes flicked between hers; lurking behind the determination and frustration, almost hidden from sight, he saw fear. “I’m going to show you that there’s no harm in opening it.”

“No!” She shot forward suddenly, and he only just managed to raise his hand, holding the watch high above her before she could snatch it back.

“It does you no good to believe in superstitions.” His heart was beating quickly in his chest, driven by their thrilling exchange. “You’ll thank me for this.”

“No, please, you don’t understand!” Her eyes were teary, glistening like little stars; in them, he could see the shadow of a dark figure towering over her. “Don’t!”

Still holding it over his head, he flicked the clasp with his thumb and heard the watch open with a click. There was a moment of nothing, in which he basked proudly, before the watch quickly grew unbearably hot. He yelled in pain, dropping it to the ground and shaking out his burning hand. As the watch hit the floor, instead of breaking into pieces as he had expected, a molten gold light burst from its face, soaring and swirling through the air in threads like luminescent eels. The eels swooped and combined into one, then they hit her and completely encapsulated her in a light that must have shone brighter than the sun.

Rupert flinched and squeezed his eyes shut instinctively, but before he could shield his face with his hand, the light died as suddenly as it had burst into existence. She collapsed bonelessly, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Suddenly remembering how to breathe, Rupert gasped, looking between her and the watch, unable to comprehend what he had seen. Was he going insane, or had the watch really done that? Had _he_ made that happen?

He couldn’t be sure how long he stood, idle, his mind buzzing with a static he couldn’t think around. When he eventually came back into himself, and the static had faded into a muted throb behind his eyes, she was still sprawled on the floor, her eyes closed peacefully and her hair fanned out around her head.

Rupert crouched beside her, his hands hovering over her body, unsure whether or not to touch her.

As his mind caught up with him, he suddenly worried that it had killed her. He tipped her head with all the care of a mother with her child and checked the pulse in her neck. Her skin was unnaturally warm, and he could see brief glimpses of gold floating beneath it wherever he wasn’t looking; if it weren’t for the surety of what had just happened, he might have thought he was imagining the snakes of light. Luckily, it only took a moment to find her heartbeat; it was extremely fast and carried a worryingly erratic pattern, but she was breathing and alive and he sighed in relief, unable to stop himself from pulling her limp upper body up so he could wrap her in a hug. Her head lulled heavily on his shoulder, blonde hair spreading over her face, and he kissed the top of her head, holding her as tightly as he could while being careful not to hurt her further.

Now, he just needed to decide what to do about her.

* * *

“Have you been able to get a hold of Grace at all?” asked Yaz, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as she sat in front of a red stop light.

“No.” Graham’s voice was tinny through her car speakers. “Ryan and I’ve been calling and texting her all day. Last thing we got was last night.”

Yaz bit her bottom lip, feeling the pit of her stomach unsettle. That meant it had been almost twenty-four hours since they had heard from Grace. “Okay. I’ve just finished work and am on my way to her house now. I’ll call you when I get there.”

The ten minutes it took to get to Grace’s dragged, even with Yaz speeding down half the roads. She’d considered using the siren, but the streets weren’t quite busy enough to warrant her risking her job. By the time she turned into Grange Close and pulled up outside the house, her heart was in her throat.

Any thought that Grace had just been having a rare unsociable day was immediately dashed when Yaz saw how the front door had been left slightly ajar. She quickly got out her patrol car and approached, her hand moving to the taser on her belt as she toed the door open.

“Grace?” she called, glancing around. The place was as immaculate as ever, the only imperfection being the vase of wilting flowers she had gifted Grace earlier that week. There were no signs of a struggle that she could spot as she moved swiftly but quietly through every room. “Grace!”

It was on her second circuit of the house that she felt something hard under her foot. She stopped and crouched down to pick up the object, her heart stuttering in her chest as her fingers closed around the open pocket watch.

She shakily took her phone from her pocket, her fingers trembling as she dialled Graham’s number.

Graham answered before the first ring; “Did you find her?”

“No,” Yaz said, not taking her eyes off the watch. “But you and Ryan should come here. Quickly.”

Graham asked no further questions – a rarity for him and one she was thankful for. She checked the entirety of the house another two times as she waited, and by the time Ryan and Graham came through the door, wide-eyed and out of breath, Yaz’s worry for Grace had grown exponentially. Her head was spinning with theories – most involving horrible imagery of the Doctor having been killed by the aliens.

“What is it? What did you find?” asked Ryan.

“This.” Yaz held the watch out to him and he took it, his face pinched in an expression Yaz couldn’t put a name to.

Graham sighed heavily. “She opened it,” he said.

“Yeah,” Yaz replied. “And her front door was left open.”

“This means the Doctor’s back, right?” said Ryan hopefully, looking between the two of them. “It must have been the right time.”

“If she’s back, then why didn’t she come straight to us?” said Yaz, her thoughts finally spilling from her tongue like a river flowing to the sea. “What if the watch didn’t work?”

“Now hang on a minute,” said Graham. He looked tired already. “Surely Grace would have come to us if she were to go anywhere.”

“But the Doctor would’ve done that too,” said Yaz.

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Ryan. “Not like she’s not abandoned us before.”

Yaz couldn’t help but feel irritated on the Doctor’s behalf. _“Don’t_ , Ryan, you know that was different.”

To his credit, Ryan gave her a sheepishly apologetic look. “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”

Unable to take it any longer, Yaz voiced a question that had been burning in her mind. “What if the aliens got her?”

Ryan and Graham glanced between them, exchanging an uneasy look.

“Maybe…” said Ryan. “But there’s no sign of a struggle, is there?”

“You’re right, son,” said Graham. “No blood, either.”

“Unless they took her.”

Something about that sentence struck Yaz; it poked at the back of her mind, begging for her attention. “Wait,” she said quietly. She stepped away from Ryan and Graham, focusing on a spot of the floor.

“Why would they bother?” asked Graham, ignorant to Yaz. “They’ve made it pretty clear they’re in for the kill, if the bodies are anything to go by.”

“Wait wait wait,” Yaz said, louder this time. She spun back around to face them and was met with two blank looks. “What if she was taken?”

“That’s what I was saying!” said Ryan.

“No, what I mean is that we’re focusing on the aliens. But we know the Doctor would put up a fight, or at least come find us if she escaped. And if it was _Grace_ …” Yaz swallowed against the nasty image. “I don’t believe there wouldn’t be evidence.”

“So… what are you saying?” asked Ryan.

Yaz groaned in frustration, hitting the ball of her palm against her temple. “I don’t know. I feel like we’re missing something – something big, right in front of us.”

“You’re starting to sound like the Doc,” said Graham.

“Except the Doctor would have worked it out by now.” She tipped her head back, as if trying to physically see the problem from a new angle. “No forced entry. No sign of a struggle. But the watch is open, so _why_ …”

“Maybe we should head home,” said Graham. He spoke as though she would snap at any moment. (Privately, she suspected it wasn’t far from the truth.) “We can think about it over a cuppa, what do you say?”

Yaz waited a moment, as if the answer would leap out at her from behind the curtains if she was still enough. Then she dropped her shoulders. “All right,” she said, dejected. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t work this out. She was no Doctor.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing the Doctor was aware of was a faint ringing in her ears. She hadn’t been caught in another sonic mine explosion, had she? She tried to think back to what had happened last, but her memories kept slipping away, sliding through her fingers like red sand.

Opening her eyes was tough and felt like tiny creatures were tugging on her eyelids. She panicked for a moment, wondering what planet she could possibly be on, but when she finally forced them open there were no little people; there was only darkness.

The ringing in her ears died down as her eyes began to adjust. She could see a few vague shapes, illuminated by the dim glow of the moon through the window, but otherwise had no clues as to where she was.

The Doctor shifted herself and tried to sit up, but her limbs felt unusually sluggish, like she had eaten one too many ginger sweets. She was so out of sorts that it took longer than it should have for her to realise that pulling at her arms was met with resistance.

With this realisation came the cold shock of sudden clarity, and she quickly twisted herself onto her side, tugging at her arms from where they were bound to the headboard of the bed.

A sudden click of a switch and a burst of light had her squinting painfully and blinking in the harsh glare.

“You’re awake!” said a male voice. It sounded familiar. Why was it so familiar?

With great effort, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and squinted over at the newcomer. He was middle-aged and tall with a bit of weight to him, and he looked as familiar as he sounded – yet, annoyingly, she still couldn’t place him.

“I know you,” she said, her throat sore from disuse. She was talking more to herself than to the man before her, but despite that fact, the smile slipped off his face. “How do I know you?”

“Did opening the watch do something to you?” he asked, the very picture of concern. But if he was so concerned, then why was she tied to the bed still? Why wasn’t he helping her? What was _happening_?

“Watch?” The answers were just out of her reach – she could feel them, lurking at the edge of her consciousness like a sadistic audience, delighting in her floundering.

“The silver one,” he said. “It opened, and then something – something _amazing_ happened. But then—”

The Doctor stopped listening to him as memories – most of them not her own – burst in her mind, stretching across her consciousness like a neon rainbow: the aliens, the university, her fam, _Grace_ , Rupert—

When she returned to awareness, her head was between her knees and the ringing sound was back, duller than it had been before. She could feel the painful throb of a headache start up behind her eyes like a drumbeat, growing in intensity with each pulse, and when she eventually lifted her head, she jolted back at the proximity of the man – of _Rupert_.

He shifted further into her personal space – something even the fam knew not to do – and she felt the overwhelming urge to move away from him, but managed to stand her ground.

“Are you okay?” Rupert asked. She struggled to focus on his face, and when she did, she could see his brow was pinched in worry; she shook her head, confused.

“I remember. No – wait, what do I remember?” Her mind was rapidly becoming sand again as clarity sunk from her grasp, and she tugged at her hands in panic. “What’s going on? Rupert?”

His face relaxed in clear relief, and he leant back, the tension visibly leaving his body. “Oh,” he said. “Thank God I didn’t damage you. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen if I opened your watch, but I certainly wasn’t expecting _that_!”

“Wait – _you_ opened it?” Her mind had started to knit itself back together, and as it did her most recent memories caught up to her, finally slotting into place. She remembered Grace, remembered her _begging_ for the watch back – remembered him refusing. She could picture the look in his eyes as he opened it anyway; the way he had almost seemed to be _enjoying_ himself. “No – I was there. I know you did.”

“There was no reason for me not to,” he said simply.

Rather than argue the point, the Doctor realised that there was a far more pressing issue.

“You have to let me go,” she said.

“What?” he frowned like a child told they couldn’t have dessert.

 _“Now,_ you have to untie me now,” she said, fisting her fingers and twisting her trapped wrists. While her mind was coming back piece by piece, she still felt as though there was a fog hanging over her head, not quite ready to recede. “Argh, I’m so _slow_! If I could just _think_.” She looked up at him, giving him as intense of a look as she could manage. “You’re in danger – _everyone_ is.”

Finally, realisation spread across his face, but her hope was short-lived. “No, _you’re_ in danger. That’s why you’re here.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was a perfectly logical thing to say and not _completely_ insane.

“What? How can you know that?”

“I’m not stupid,” he said, and then immediately contradicted himself. “I know about your special powers. The glowing snakes? I saw how you weren’t able to control them. What if someone else had seen? They’d take you away, experiment on you… I can’t let that happen.” He nodded to himself, looking satisfied with his decision. “That’s why you’re safest here, with me. No one understands you like I do.”

The Doctor stared at him, blown away by his ignorance, then exclaimed, “I can take care of myself!” Rupert snorted in a way that said he very much disagreed, and the Doctor felt her blood begin to boil. “And even if I couldn’t, how are you doing anything to help?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because I’m _protecting_ you. If you’re here, with me, then there’s no risk that someone else will see what you can do and take advantage of you.”

The Doctor groaned in annoyance. “Look, Rupert. The me you thought you knew? I’m not her. My name’s not Grace, it’s—"

“Who’s Grace?”

The Doctor faltered, taken by surprise. “Uh… I mean, it _was_ me.”

“Your name is Grace?” He smiled. “It suits you.”

“No, it’s – wait. You didn’t know my name?”

Rupert shrugged indifferently. “It never mattered to me.”

The Doctor looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head, deciding to dismiss that rather worrying thought. “Right, well, point is, there’s a really nasty creature somewhere on Earth with the ability to hunt down my DNA, and now that I’m me again, it’ll be coming for me. Understand?” She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she said, “Our best chance of survival, is for you to let me go.”

“Do you know what I think?” asked Rupert suddenly, leaning in close again. “I think you’re trying to frighten me out of this. I can _protect_ you.” He gestured to a laughably weak looking cricket bat leant against the wall, its wood chipped and rubber handle faded and unravelling.

The Doctor gaped in disbelief. “You and your bat won’t even slow it down! It will _kill_ you!”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her, and she felt her face scrunch in indignation – an expression she had noticed often made Yaz smile. She suddenly and achingly missed her friends.

“You don’t need anyone anymore. You don’t need your co-workers, your friends.” He placed a hand on her knee, and she glared at it in disgust, feeling revolted by the touch. “You need _me_. How many times have I helped you since we met?”

The Doctor swallowed, taking the time to choose her next words carefully. “You were a good friend. But right now, I think you’re being a very _bad_ one. Friends don’t… do _this_.” She shook her hands to punctuate her point and looked at him beseechingly.

Like curtains being drawn closed, his expression suddenly turned stony and unreadable. He stood, turning his back to her. “I don’t blame you for not understanding,” he said, walking toward the door. “But believe me when I say it’s for your own good, Grace. You’ll see that soon.”

“My name’s not Grace!” the Doctor called after him. “It’s the Doctor, and if you don’t let me go, then we’re both going to _die_!”

Her cry fell upon deaf ears, and Rupert shut the door behind him without looking back.

* * *

The next day there was still no word from the Doctor (or Grace), and Yaz had grown almost frantic with worry.

“I’m gonna call it in,” she said, pacing up and down Graham’s living room. Graham and Ryan were sat on the sofa, watching her wear down the carpet like they were spectating a tennis match.

“And say what?” asked Graham. “That she’s being hunted by aliens?”

“No.” Yaz stopped pacing and turned to face him. “Tell them the facts: that we haven’t seen her for two days now, and her front door was left open. She doesn’t have any other family, and they’re not going to find anything through background checks, so there are no excuses not to look into it.”

“Don’t you have to wait, like, 24 hours before calling in a missing person?” asked Ryan.

“That’s a myth. You should phone it in when you become worried, and I am very worried right now.”

“Yaz has a point,” said Graham. “Worst case scenario, they don’t find her. Best case? They do. Or they at least help.”

Yaz looked at Ryan expectantly, who sighed. “All right, call it in. Guess that’s all we can do now anyway.”

Yaz nodded gratefully. Truthfully, she didn’t know how much the police could help, but having more than just the three of them on the lookout definitely couldn’t hurt. And it would help her feel like she was actually _doing_ something.

Sitting around and waiting for something to happen while the Doctor could be in trouble was not an option.

* * *

Rupert had been gone for hours now. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, giving the Doctor a better view of the room she was confined to, although it did nothing to alleviate her drive to escape. If anything, it worsened it as she had very quickly spotted a rather disturbing feature of the bedroom.

There were several images of herself stuck to the walls of the room. All of them had been taken from afar – grainy, unprofessional images of her ( _Grace,_ she corrected herself) going about her day. Just looking at them made her feel physically queasy. It was now clear that Rupert had had some sort of an obsession with Grace. To kind, innocent Grace, he had been a friendly face – one of the few people she had managed to befriend. And he turned out to be a massive creep.

Another prominent issue was the fact that she had no idea how long it would be until the creature found her. This particular species boasted one of the most sensitive noses in the universe and had a vicious palate for hearts – Time Lords’ especially. And if Grace’s extreme reaction to the watch being opened was any indication, then it was probably still on Earth.

She heard the sound of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs and shuffled back against the headboard, trying not to think about the images on the wall and the implications that came with them.

“I’m sorry for getting angry earlier,” she heard him say, and then the door opened and he entered, carrying a plate and a glass of what looked like orange juice. “You’re probably scared and confused, and I didn’t think about how you’d be feeling. I thought I’d bring you a little something – I know how much you love these.” He smiled and placed the juice and the plate on the bedside table, and she could see that it held four custard creams. She felt sick. “I would have made you a latte, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate the caffeine right now.” He laughed as if he’d told a joke, and she eyed him warily. “Besides, I don’t think I could make it like Tom just yet. But don’t worry! I’ll keep practicing. One day I’ll get it right.”

At the reminder of Tom, she felt a sharp sting in her hearts, like a spear had been taken to them. He had been sweet and kind, and she could still feel Grace’s adoration and burning grief for him. His death had been unjust, and it hurt to know that she would probably never know what happened to him.

“Go on,” said Rupert, nudging the plate as if she might have forgotten it was there. “You must be hungry. It’s been hours since you last ate.”

He wasn’t wrong, and she could feel her ravenous hunger clawing at the pit of her stomach as it had done the entire night. But now, with his lingering looks and large hands so close to her, she couldn’t bring herself to take a single bite. She had seen enough Earth telly to know that accepting food from a perverted captor was a very bad idea.

“How can I eat with my hands bound,” she said, hoping he was fool enough to untie her.

“Oh!” He laughed again. “Sorry, silly me. Here.” Her momentary hope was swallowed by annoyance as, instead of freeing her, he picked up a biscuit between two large fingers and held it out to her, cupping a hand underneath to catch any crumbs. “No need to be shy.”

The Doctor wasn’t shy, but she had some pride and would not allow herself to be hand-fed by him. She stayed silent, even as he tapped the biscuit lightly against her sealed lips.

“You’d rather starve than have me feed you?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she replied, using as much sass as she could; she was good at that this time around.

“Fine,” he said haughtily. “If you want to be childish, then have it your way. I’ll just leave this here.” He dropped the biscuit back on the plate harshly, as if it had personally offended him somehow. He turned to leave, and then stopped briefly in the doorframe. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And Grace? One day you’ll come around. Give it time; you’ll see that I’m only trying to help you.”

He left, and she stared at the closed door, her jaw clenching. She had felt uneasy before – nervous, even – but now she could feel the anger swirling beneath her skin. “I don’t intend to stay that long, _mate_.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ryan jumped up from his seat at the table as Yaz entered the kitchen, Graham following closely behind. 

“Well?” asked Ryan. It was a Saturday – two days since Yaz had alerted the police to Grace’s disappearance – and he had felt on edge ever since; too anxious to do anything, yet unable to stay idle. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” said Yaz, and Ryan sank into his seat in disappointment. Yaz and Graham joined him a moment later, with about as much enthusiasm. “They’re taking it seriously, at least. Probably because I was the one who reported it.”

Graham nodded, impressed. “They’ve got a good opinion of you, then.”

Yaz winced. “More like… they know I follow the rules, so would never file a false report.” If he weren’t so on edge, Ryan would have snorted at that. While Yaz had started to show her rebellious side during their trips with the Doctor, Ryan would always see her as that girl in class who sat too straight and reminded the teacher about the homework. She quickly spoke again, probably eager to move on; “But anyway, it’s got us a bit of a head start. They interviewed employees at the university yesterday, but I’ve not got the statements yet. I’ll see if I can take a look at them tomorrow.”

“What do we have so far?” asked Ryan, feeling rather useless. He didn’t want to just sit, twiddling his thumbs as he had been for the past two days. Then again, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Nothing but an empty watch and an open front door,” replied Yaz.

“Great,” said Ryan sarcastically.

“Hang on a minute, what about those bodies? And Tom? _And_ her stolen bag?” said Graham. “They must count for something.”

“Not for much, though,” said Ryan. “The bodies were a dead end, and the bag could’ve been anyone.” He hesitated, then said, “Tom… I don’t know. Maybe it was just a murder? Got into a fight or something and the guy who did it panicked and ran.”

Yaz groaned and slumped against the table, suddenly looking very tired. Ryan suspected she hadn’t been sleeping, instead staying up all night researching potential leads. “It’s all just loose ends. I don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere.”

“Well how about we do our own bit of investigating?” suggested Graham. Ryan perked up, interested. It wasn’t often Graham volunteered to investigate – usually, he just followed behind and made a show of complaining.

“What kind of investigating?” asked Yaz, tipping her head where it lay on the table to look at Graham.

“We could have a chat with that janitor bloke,” he said. “He was probably the last one to see her if he’s been dropping her off and picking her up every day.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Ryan. “We could go and have a chat with him while you’re at the station, Yaz.”

“It’s worth a shot,” she said. “I’ll get you his address when I’m there. I’m sure they’ll have it somewhere.”

Ryan felt much better having a plan. It was loose and was likely to end up another dead end, but having something to look forward to – something physical to grasp onto – gave him hope.

* * *

It had been dark for several hours now and at some point in the night, a storm had started. The Doctor could hear rain slamming against the window and the wind howling outside like some sort of monstrous creature trying to break in, and she shivered, reminded of the creature that was hunting her.

She needed to escape.

Throughout the day, gradually, like pushing the frayed end of a thread through the eye of a needle, an idea (or perhaps half an idea) had begun to form in her mind. She had just needed to wait until night had fallen.

The glass of orange juice wasn’t far from her, but without the use of her hands she didn’t have many options for reaching it. She had tried to pull at the tie, but had only succeeded in forcing the knot tighter and agitating the redness ringing her wrists.

After a moment’s deliberation, she manoeuvred her legs in a way that, while uncomfortable, allowed her to awkwardly yank her socks off. Luckily this body was flexible and small, unlike her previous one.

Sparing a glance at the closed door and being sure to listen out for noises from outside, she lightly touched the glass of orange juice with her toe, adding pressure until it tipped over with a light thud, and she winced at the sound. The juice puddled and ran down the bedside table and onto the floor; the glass rolled briefly, but didn’t have the momentum to get close to the edge.

In a manoeuvre Houdini would have been impressed by, she held the glass between her feet and slowly, awkwardly, lifted it, then brought it back down against the edge of the bedside table, hard. It made a loud bang and she held her breath, glancing at the door and listening for Rupert. When she heard nothing, she continued to hit the glass against the edge of the table several times until it broke suddenly, shattering into sharp pieces and shards. Most of the glass fell on the floor, but amongst the smaller pieces she could see one larger shard on the table. She carefully picked it up with her feet, mindful of the sharp edges as she slowly brought it onto the bed, and then painfully twisted herself so she could bring it up into her waiting hand.

Once she had the glass gripped in her palm, she let her legs fall back onto the bed with a relieved sigh and took a moment to breathe, before she twisted her wrist and began sawing at the tie with the shard. It took several minutes, and she bit her lip against the sharp pain as it cut into her hand, until finally she broke through the fabric of the tie and dropped the shard. She hissed, squeezing her bleeding hand into a fist, then stood and made her way over to the door. She refused to be the damsel in distress in her first go at being a woman.

She couldn’t see much as she crept through Rupert’s darkened house. At every creak of the floorboards she stopped and listened, her hearts beating rapidly in her chest, but each time she could hear nothing but the torrential weather outside.

By the time she reached the foot of the stairs, the front door was in sight and she felt relief rush through her. Through its window she could see the dim light of a streetlamp glowing a faint yellow, illuminating the droplets on the glass. Bizarrely, she felt a knot in her throat at the prospect of escaping and finally reuniting with her fam. A matter of months, to someone of her age, was a mere snap of a finger – but it felt like such a long time since she had seen them last.

She crept across to the door, her bare feet silent against the floorboards as she moved as quickly as she could.

She was a hair’s width from freedom when she was suddenly wrenched back by a strong arm around her shoulders, and she cried out in surprise.

She could hear Rupert’s breaths of exertion as he tried to keep hold of her through her struggling. A second arm wrapped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides as she was dragged away from the glow of the door and back into the darkness of the house.

“No!” she shouted, struggling against the arms around her. “Get off me!”

“You really think I didn’t hear all that commotion?” Rupert whispered in her ear. “You’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are. I told you, this is for your own good.” He hoisted her up so her legs were off the ground, and then carried her over to the stairs as she continued to thrash and shout in his grip.

“No, I need to get back to my TARDIS! I need to leave, let me go!”

While she had loved being a woman after so many lives of being a man, she couldn’t help but feel angry at her smaller stature. If she were any of her past incarnations, she would have had a better chance, but this body was too weak to fight Rupert’s bulky form.

With some difficulty, he carried her up the stairs, his grip hard and bruising, and once they were back in the bedroom he threw her on the bed, breathing heavily.

She bounced once, then immediately tried to run past him. He caught hold of her wrists and pushed her back, slamming her on the mattress with her arms on either side of her head and his legs clamped around hers.

“Grace!” he said, his eyes boring into hers as he squeezed her wrists hard. “Calm down!”

“Stop calling me that! That’s not who I am, I’m _not her_ ,” the Doctor shouted angrily, wrenching at her arms and twisting her hips. Her mind was clouded with anger and seared with frustration at being so _close_ to freedom, before it was cruelly ripped away from her.

“Doctor!”

The use of her name gave her pause and she fell still, the fight all of a sudden leaving her. When she looked up at him, she was surprised to see only confusion in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. It took her a moment to figure out what he was referring to.

“My ship, I need to get to her.” Her voice felt rough from the screaming and her breathing sounded loud amongst the abrupt calm. She tugged experimentally at his grip.

“Your ship?” he asked, paying her subtle struggle no mind.

“I’m not _from Earth_. And if you don’t let me leave, then that creature will find me.”

She could see the moment he registered what she had said. His mouth dropped open and his eyes darted over her face, as if looking for evidence.

“Oh,” Rupert said, his voice a whisper. “You’re… you’re an alien?”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, hyperaware of their proximity. “Grace was a placeholder while I hid from it in that watch. Now I’m back… she’s nothing but a memory.” She studied his face, which had become worryingly unreadable. “The Grace you knew is gone.”

Rupert closed his eyes for a moment and the Doctor found herself holding her breath, preparing for an emotional outburst – but it never came.

“I’ll mourn her,” he said finally, opening his eyes. They were dark and deep and scarily intense, but they were not wet, nor red. In that moment, he looked more like an alien than any creature she had encountered, while she suddenly felt every bit the human Grace had been. “But everything I found intriguing about her… is multiplied in you.”

He released one of her wrists and gently caressed her temple. She turned her head away, revolted, but otherwise didn’t fight him.

“An alien.” He whispered it again like a prayer. His eyes tracked her body, and she felt a phantom finger trace icily up her spine. “Anything I should know?” he asked. “Tentacles? Slime?”

She set her jaw and shot him a cold look. “No,” she said stonily.

She was certain he had been joking, but she refused to tell him anything more about her. She loved Earth, however while she liked to surround herself with the best of humanity, she was deeply aware of the worst. Unique beings didn’t mesh well with greedy and selfish people.

“That’s surprising,” he said, as if commenting on the weather. The Doctor didn’t like how calmly he seemed to be taking the existence of extra-terrestrials. Most people were shocked, or scared, or awed; Rupert was none of these, and that was perhaps more dangerous than any of the others.

Rupert continued; “I would’ve expected a third eye or something, at the very least. What planet are you from? Mars?”

Flashes of a burning Gallifrey cut through her mind’s eye like a fresh wound. Images of a world she would never have again, clouded by orange smoke; a people that would never again walk the surface of their planet, buried under rubble and ash.

“You wouldn’t know it,” she said, feeling her eyes sting. She dug her nails into her palms, refusing to let the tears fall.

At the memory of her home, she couldn’t help but think about her TARDIS, and the makeshift family she travelled with. She wanted to get back to her TARDIS, back to her friends—

“Please let me go,” she said quietly. The words passed her lips unbidden, but she didn’t care.

“You know I can’t,” he replied, his voice equally soft.

Slowly, Rupert released her other arm and moved away from her. She sat up on the bed and gingerly held one of her smarting wrists, watching him warily as he opened the bottom drawer of the dresser.

“Then let me call my friends at least,” she said. “They’ll be worried.”

He ignored her and approached with two new ties, and she watched as he laid them out neatly beside her.

“That was my favourite one,” he said, nodding to the frayed piece of tie lying on the carpet. The other half was still attached to the headboard.

“Did you know—” she jumped slightly as he carefully took her hands into his and tenderly ghosted his thumb over the lacerations— “that my mother gifted it to me?”

His hands dwarfed hers as he cupped them like one would an injured bird, before he picked up one of the new ties – this one forest-green and miserable looking – and began to wrap it around her wrists. The Doctor watched him numbly, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. It tugged at her limbs, weighing her body down like an anvil dropped in the ocean. She felt a tear finally slide down her cheek, and let it go.

She was too tired to fight and too tired to respond to his reminiscing. Feeling utterly helpless, she sat and listened.

“Right before she died,” Rupert said. He looked at her, and she thought the most frightening thing about him was that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She looked into his eyes and knew nothing of his mind. He tightened the knot harshly and she sucked in a sharp breath as the fabric chafed her wrists. “She looked a lot like you, you know. Blonde hair, big smile.” He guided her hands back to the headboard and began to secure them to it as she watched on. “She was beautiful.”

Those three words snapped through the Doctor like a string pulled taught, and she renewed her struggle as she tried to tug her hands out of his grip; but the fight had long since left her, and it only took a few harsh jerks on his part before she was once again tied to the bed.

“Would you have wanted this for her?” she asked, in a desperate attempt to manipulate his feelings.

He paused, glancing at her. “I would have done anything to keep her safe.”

Then, he grabbed her ankles and forcefully yanked them toward him. With the other tie, he began to bind them together.

“No – wait,” the Doctor said, trying to pull away. “Wait—!”

“I can’t have you try to escape again,” he said gruffly. He didn’t look at her until he had finished, and then sat on the bed beside her.

There was silence between them for a few moments (she was sure he could hear her hearts thudding in her chest) and then he slowly leant into her personal space. The Doctor shuffled as far from him as she could, bringing her knees up as a pitiful barrier between them. This regeneration was impersonal almost to the extreme; she wasn’t particularly keen on touches from her friends, let alone from perverted strangers who had pictures of her on his wall and who kept her trapped in his bedroom.

Rupert’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion as he took her in. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, as if it were an obvious fact she should have known.

He moved closer still and she shifted further back, pressing her spine against the headboard. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been scared of a human – at least, not for herself. It was a new kind of fear for her, and she hated it. She felt powerless and sick and, above all, frightened.

She almost wished she was back on Gallifrey, as the Master’s captive. At least with him, she knew what to expect. The Master was eccentric and trigger-happy and a wildcard to the extreme, but she knew him and his games. They had known one another for longer than civilisation had existed on Earth, and he had _never_ looked at her in the hungry, lustful way Rupert did – not even when he had been Missy. Rupert was a wildcard in a game she had never played, and had never imagined she would ever have to play.

Rupert’s hand hovered near her hesitantly, as if asking for permission, before he tentatively brushed it across her shoulder. His touch was feather-light but felt invasive, even through her clothes.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice as light as his touch. “I won’t. It’s just… I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“You stay away from me,” the Doctor said, refusing to acknowledge the shake to her voice.

“You’re safe with me.” He leant in further and the Doctor watched, feeling like a cornered animal as he brought his fingertips up her neck and combed them gently through her hair. Then, in a move which shocked the Doctor, he pulled her head forward and pressed his lips against her forehead.

The Doctor opened her eyes, unaware that she had even closed them, and was breathing shakily as he pulled away. He stroked her hair a few times, his face the picture of adoration. She looked back at him, repulsed. Even as he got up from the bed, she could feel the trace of his invasive touches, running down her body like droplets of icy water.

He picked up the larger shards of glass from the floor in silence and then, just before he swung the door closed behind him, said, “I’ll be back with breakfast tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere.”

Then the door closed with a bang and the Doctor was left, alone and trembling, with the wind howling outside and the rain pelting against the window.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: Slight hint toward elements of noncon in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but just wanted to give a you heads up.

Unable to sleep or keep her mind off Rupert, the Doctor had spent the rest of the night trying to come up with another escape plan. It was now the morning, and she still had nothing.

The sun was emerging through what was left of the storm clouds and shining through the rain-splattered window, but even its cheerful yellow light couldn’t take away from the dark gloom which seemed to permeate Rupert’s bedroom and seep into her mind. She wondered whether it would appear as miserable to her were she not a prisoner. She wondered if there had been anyone else here before her, if any unfortunate soul had also fallen victim to his lies of friendship. Then, she considered the implications of there being no one here now, and shut off that line of thought. She would rather not know.

The sound of someone ascending the stairs jolted her from her thoughts, and she quickly sat up from where she had been curled up on her side.

“I’m back,” Rupert said, toeing the door open. “With food!” He placed a paper plate, loaded again with four custard creams, and a disposable plastic cup of water on the bedside table. “Thought I’d try the biscuits again, since I don’t know what kind of cereal you like. You must be hungry.”

“Lost my appetite,” she replied drily, although truthfully even the sight of food was making her painfully aware of how empty her stomach felt. She was sure her dreams would be filled with custard creams if she ever managed to drift off.

Rupert laughed at her as if she were a stubborn child and not a Time Lord thousands of years his senior. “Now why don’t I believe you?” He picked up a custard cream and held it between two surprisingly clean fingers. She had expected his hands to be as grubby as his personality. “Come on,” he said, holding it barely an inch from her mouth. “Open up.”

The Doctor shook her head, not caring how childish she looked doing it. She refused to sink to the level of being hand-fed. The level she was at now was already far below her threshold for shame.

Rupert’s amused smile quickly slipped into an unkind frown; the Doctor tried not to feel intimidated.

“Well, now you’re just being stubborn,” he said unhappily. He ran his free hand over her head, stroking her hair again. The Doctor had been elated to find out that she had longer hair this time around, but she wasn’t sure she liked it so much now, with how fond Rupert was of touching it. “Grace would’ve eaten it.”

When the Doctor didn’t rise to the bait, Rupert scowled and gripped a fistful of her hair, yanking it hard. The Doctor couldn’t help but gasp from the shock of pain, and when she did, he shoved the biscuit into her mouth with such force that she almost choked.

Meeting his eyes as he watched her with a calculative expression, the Doctor realised that she was genuinely afraid of this man. She had never been scared of a human before – scared _for_ them, all too often, but never scared for her own safety. Rupert was like no human she had ever encountered and being helpless in his company was terrifying.

Feeling dreadfully ashamed of herself, yet unable to bring herself to defy him, she reluctantly chewed. What had been one of her favourite Earth snacks tasted like ash in her mouth, and she struggled to swallow.

“Good girl,” Rupert said, and the Doctor felt revulsion sweep through her at the pet name. He removed his hand from her hair and held out the next biscuit. “Learnt your lesson yet?”

The Doctor glared at him, her cheeks burning with anger and humiliation, but opened her mouth obediently and let him continue to feed her until there was nothing but crumbs left on the plate. He carefully held the cup of water to her lips, and once she was finished drinking, he sat on the bed and considered her, his eyes sweeping up and down her body. He stared for an inordinate length of time, and she shifted uncomfortably.

Unable to take the tense silence any longer, she forced herself past her fear and said, “Can I ask you something?”

She was the Doctor, after all: asking questions and solving the mysteries of the universe was what she did. She had never let fear hinder her before, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Rupert looked surprised, but thankfully didn’t become angry. She hated the amount of relief this gave her. “Of course. Anything.”

“Why me? Why did you choose to take me? Why not someone else?”

His face darkened and her hearts sped up slightly. She had never been good at gauging social cues – especially not this current version of her – and Rupert was proving to be a particularly difficult case.

“I’m keeping you safe,” he said.

“I know that,” she said hurriedly, “but why _me_ , exactly? Why did you befriend me? Why are my pictures on your wall?” She looked over at the photos and he followed her gaze, his expression immediately softening.

Rupert was quiet for so long that the Doctor thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to answer. Then, he looked at her and said, “There’s something about you that I find intoxicating.”

“Intoxicating?”

“You’re kind. Considerate. Everyone else ignores me, or treats me like I’m less than them… but not you. That first time we met, you _helped_ me clean. And you remembered my name and talked to me like we were friends.”

“You were lonely,” she said, finally understanding.

His expression turned melancholy as he became lost in nostalgia. “When my mother died, I had no one left. It was that way for a long time, until you came along.”

The Doctor had met a fair number of people with familial issues – she herself had an abundance that she liked to pretend didn’t exist. But when she tried to imagine someone like Ryan in Rupert’s place, it felt wrong, like the two could never align. “And you think I can replace her?”

He sidestepped her question, either not wanting to answer or not listening. “You don’t need your friends. Just me. I can give you everything you need.”

“Why can’t I be free _and_ your friend? Wouldn’t that be so much better than keeping me here, against my will?”

Rupert’s demeanour tensed and he suddenly stood, growling in anger and making the Doctor jerk back in shock. “You still don’t get it!” He thrust a hand to the side, knocking cup off the bedside table. She was unable to hold back another flinch at the physical outburst. “I’m keeping you _safe_!”

He suddenly crowded in close to her and she tried to shrink back, but there was only so far she could go. He sandwiched her face tightly between his palms, trapping her head as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones and his eyes tracked her features like he was scanning the sky for constellations.

“You are so beautiful.” His voice was intimate and low, a jarring contrast to his shout seconds ago.

“No, no please,” she said, unable to stop the plea from escaping. She shook her head, still trying to pull away, but he forced her closer to him and pressed their foreheads together.

In that moment, the Doctor realised that she could look inside his mind – that she could look behind those crazed eyes and figure out the man before her. But, in the same thought, she realised she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking – what he thought of when he saw her. The Doctor had never believed in the Earth phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’; now, she wholeheartedly agreed.

They stayed that way for several seconds, with nothing but Rupert’s heavy breathing and the Doctor’s racing hearts between them, before he pulled back slightly, still holding her face.

“I’ve imagined this so many times,” he said. His face was inches from hers, his voice barely a whisper above the roaring of blood in her ears.

The Doctor felt like she was drowning in terror and anger; she felt sickness stirring with it in her stomach, and her longing for the TARDIS – a constant feeling which had settled itself between her hearts – sharpened. “Always like this?”

“No. I’d imagined you happier, like in those photos.” His fingers absently fiddled with her hair, coiling a strand around his finger, and the Doctor wanted nothing more than to push him away and get his invasive hands off her.

“Just untie me.” She spoke softly, trying her best not to let her desperation show. “Then I’ll be happy like you want, I promise.”

Rupert frowned. “But you would run.”

“I wouldn’t.” She shook her head, her expression as earnest as she could manage. “I swear.”

He scanned her face again, his expression serious, and she held her breath as her fists clenched in anticipation.

Then, he sighed. “I don’t believe you.”

Rupert maintained eye contact, his eyes dark and unreadable as his hands moved from her hair and brushed along the length of her biceps.

“Stop,” she said. “Rupert, stop.”

She felt Rupert’s hands freeze, and for a moment the only sound between them was her ragged breathing as she tried not to cry, before he pulled his hands away and swiftly left the room.

The Doctor once again curled against the headboard and tried to imagine herself on another planet, or on the TARDIS, or round Yaz’s for tea – anywhere but here.

* * *

Ryan’s phone ringing paused his and Graham’s investigation before it had even begun.

Seeing that it was Yaz, he put the phone on speaker and was immediately assaulted by Yaz’s voice. “It’s Rupert!”

“Yeah, we’re about to go see him.” Ryan looked from Graham to the house they had parked in front of, looking as irrelevant as the man who occupied it.

“No, I mean it’s _him_ – it has to be!”

“Yaz, you’re not making sense.”

There was a beat, and then Yaz said, noticeably calmer than before, “He has the Doctor.”

Ryan froze as Graham said, “He what?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ryan asked, peeling himself from his shock. He would – and had before – put his life on Yaz’s instincts. But she had such an emotional stake in this that he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t grabbing at straws for lack of anything else to hold on to.

“I’m gonna send you a witness statement. It’s from a lecturer at the university who happens to have the office next door to Grace’s. One sec.”

Ryan waited impatiently, exchanging a sceptical glance with Graham and tapping a finger against the car door until his phone vibrated with the message. He opened the image of the witness statement: a photo of an official-looking page, written in typewriter font with the woman’s information printed at the top. (A Mrs Greggory, apparently.) He skimmed through a couple of irrelevant paragraphs of the transcript of the interview, until he got to what Yaz was referring to.

_Oh, there is that janitor. He’s always hanging around her office, waiting for the chance to chat. I don’t know how she doesn’t tire of him. Takes her to and from work, goes to the coffee shop with her; he’s spent more time in this corridor since she’s been working here than he has in his entire career. I’d barely been able to place him before. Now, I can’t go a day without seeing him, hanging about like some stalker. Helen reckons he fancies her._

The rest of the statement went on a bit: some story about her neighbour’s son’s friend with probably no relevancy to the question. The sort of old lady gossip Ryan’s nan hadn’t been able to stand when she spoke with the older women at work.

“So… she has an admirer?” said Ryan. It wasn’t a particularly unusual thought. Grace had shared the Doctor’s natural charm and magnetism, if significantly dulled; it would be easy to believe that someone had fallen for it. “Not that surprising.”

“No, but it’s _Rupert_. Don’t you get it?” Yaz’s tone worried Ryan. Yaz always got a certain excited edge to her voice when she was solving a mystery. Now, however, she sounded fearful and anxious, and Ryan suddenly felt as though he was missing the mark by a mile. “In the statement, Mrs Greggory says that they sometimes went to the coffee shop together.”

“Yeah?”

“She also says that he probably fancied Grace.”

“Yeah.”

“And who worked at the coffee shop?”

It took a moment, but the pieces finally slotted together. It didn’t form a complete picture, but he could feel his mind begin to work it out. “Tom.”

“And who did we see at the club the night Tom died?” asked Yaz. Ryan’s heart plummeted; because he had _forgotten_ that Rupert had been there that night. Amongst all the chaos, he had forgotten that grumpy, lone man in the corner, watching the dancefloor with eyes like daggers – the dancefloor Grace had been dancing on with Tom.

“Wait, he was there?” asked Graham, looking at Ryan in surprise.

“I’d forgotten,” Ryan replied.

“So had I, until I tried to link the two together,” said Yaz. “ _And_ he must have seen Grace last. He drives her home every night and picks her up every morning.”

Ryan could feel the threads of their cat’s cradle untangling, slowly weaving together as each piece of evidence was pulled into place.

There was silence for a moment, and then Graham asked, “You think he killed Tom?”

Yaz was hesitant in her reply. “I don’t know what to think. But he was there, alone, staring at them like someone with a vendetta. I don’t trust him.”

“So what do we do?” asked Ryan. “Let the police know?”

“Can’t really do that, can we?” said Graham. “If she is there, they’d probably take her to the hospital.”

“Right,” said Ryan, “no hospitals.” He didn’t want to think about what would happen if a doctor found her double pulse and whatever else was different about her. (She had mentioned other things, like multiple brains, but he wasn’t sure where the truth started and her exaggeration ended.)

“We’ll have to go ourselves,” decided Yaz.

A year ago, Ryan would have felt anxious at the very thought of breaking into a potential psychopath’s home. Now, though, whether it was because he had grown accustomed to these sorts of things after travelling in the TARDIS, or because it was the Doctor they were saving, Ryan felt nothing but determination.

Ryan had half expected Graham to complain like he always did, but when he looked at his grandad, he saw nothing but the same determination Ryan could feel coursing through his own body.

“We’ll go tonight: get in, grab the Doctor, get out,” said Yaz.

“Wait, how are we gonna get in? Can’t smash a window without waking the whole house up.” One look at Rupert’s front door told Ryan it would be too sturdy to break in, and there was no way any of them could pick that lock.

“Meet me at the TARDIS. I’ve got an idea.”

She obviously wasn’t going to elaborate, and Ryan shared a baffled look with Graham. Regardless of what the plan was, it was clear that they would be in for an adventure. Ryan just wished it didn’t feel so empty without the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *That scene* with the Doctor and Rupert was originally creepier, but I made a last minute tweak because I didn't think it particularly added anything to the story.
> 
> Interested to hear what you guys think and thank you for all the lovely comments so far!


	11. Chapter 11

The Doctor was partway through quietly reciting the third Harry Potter book, when a very familiar sound pulled her from the story.

She quickly sat up, her eyes wide against the dark and her ears straining to hear through the silence.

“Please,” she whispered, daring to let herself hope.

When the house remained quiet, the Doctor slumped against the headboard, huffing in disappointment.

She flicked back through the book in her mind, getting to where she had left off, when the door was slowly pushed open. She stared at it, barely daring to breathe.

She hadn’t heard anyone on the stairs, and Rupert usually thumped up them like a creature three times his size, which meant—

“Doctor!”

The light was flicked on and before the Doctor had a chance to adjust to the sudden brightness, she was caught in a tight hug.

“Doc, you all right?” Worried about what would come out if she spoke, the Doctor buried her face into Yaz’s jacket in lieu of replying to Graham.

She usually found physical contact uncomfortable and itchy, but in that moment, she could think of nothing she wanted more than a hug from Yaz.

Yaz eventually pulled back, although kept her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders and looked at her with bright eyes.

“How did you find me?” The Doctor struggled to speak through the sudden emotion clogging her throat – it wasn’t a feeling she was used to.

As much faith as she had in her friends, she had resigned herself to either a long time with Rupert, or a nasty death at the hands of the creature. That the fam would find her so soon hadn’t even crossed her mind, and she kept that thought to herself guiltily.

“Yaz put it all together,” said Graham, looking proudly at Yaz. “A modern day Sherlock.”

“Modern day Sherlock, with a touch of Time Lord,” said Yaz, holding up the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver with a conniving smile. The sight of her sonic made the Doctor almost as happy as the company of her friends, and her fingers ached to grab it.

“Wow, stalker.” Ryan’s voice broke the happy moment, and the Doctor looked over at him to see him stood before the pictures Rupert had stuck on the wall.

Even with her friends surrounding her, looking at those images made her feel queasy and unsafe, and she quickly looked away.

“Blimey,” said Graham, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Someone’s got an admirer.”

“Looks more like a serial killer’s den to me.” Yaz looked about as disgusted as the Doctor felt.

“Let’s get you out of here, before Dahmer out there realises what’s going on,” said Graham. Yaz, who had been staring at the images with a hard look on her face (the most aggressive expression the Doctor had ever seen on her), jumped to attention and sat on the bed, moving to untie her wrists.

Before Yaz could get the Doctor’s hands free, however, movement out of the corner of her eye made her inhale sharpy, alerting the others to a large figure stood in the doorframe. His shadow stretched across the room ominously, reaching toward the Doctor as if looking to swallow her whole.

“How did you get in here?” asked Rupert, his face red and angry.

The Doctor swallowed, her eyes locked onto Rupert even as her friends moved to stand between the two of them.

“I should’ve known you three would interfere. Should’ve done away with you too, while I was at it.”

It took the Doctor a moment to connect the dots, however when she did, it wasn’t her voice that spoke. “You killed Tom,” said Yaz; it wasn’t a question.

Rupert shrugged nonchalantly, looking almost bored at the insinuation. “He wasn’t good for Grace,” he said. “He didn’t understand her. How could he?”

“And you could do better?” asked the Doctor angrily, feeling her eyes sting with the beginnings of tears she refused to let fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “He was innocent!”

“No one is innocent,” said Rupert darkly. “Least of all those who mean well. They’re dangerous. Besides,” he stepped closer to the bed and the fam tensed; the Doctor could see Yaz’s hand twitch toward the taser on her belt, and Ryan’s hands clench into fists. “He doesn’t know the _real_ you. I know you’re an alien, you have nothing to hide from me! Nothing to _fear_.”

“That’s as far as you go,” warned Graham, his phone raised in his hand. “Stay put, or I’m calling the police.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Rupert’s expression flickered for a moment into something ugly and terrifying. Then, before Yaz could grab her taser, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pistol. He pointed it at each of the Doctor’s friends in turn, his aim shaky as he breathed heavily through his nose.

“Move to the wall,” he said, gesturing sloppily with the gun, its barrel glinting malevolently.

In a rare moment of panic (which, in the past few days, was becoming more of a common occurrence), the Doctor couldn’t think of what to do. The more she tried to get a hold of herself, the quicker her breathing was and the heavier the fog in her mind became. She looked at her friends, who were all looking at her, as if expecting her to somehow save the day while weaponless and restrained.

“Fam, go,” the Doctor said quietly.

This obviously wasn’t the answer they had been expecting to hear, because they hesitated long enough for Rupert to become impatient.

“Move to the wall!” he shouted, shaking the gun at them. The Doctor felt her hearts pulse as her muddled mind tried to calculate the chance of a misfire.

Slowly, the three of them inched to the far side of the room and stood in front of the window. This didn’t satisfy Rupert, however, as he swung the gun around to aim it at Yaz.

“Drop your weapons,” he said. “All of them.”

Briefly, Yaz again glanced at the Doctor, who felt both awe and shame at having garnered such faith from her companions. She didn’t think she deserved it at all.

At the Doctor’s shallow nod, Yaz dropped the taser on the ground, followed by her baton. The thuds as they hit the ground sounded dull and final in the small, quiet room.

“That’s everything?” asked Rupert, looking Yaz up and down as if she could be hiding something else in her belt.

“Yes,” Yaz replied. She spoke in a professional, cold manner – what Ryan had once jokingly dubbed her ‘police voice’.

“No gun?”

“Police officers don’t carry guns.”

Rupert paused, clearly wanting to search her but hesitant to get too close.

“Mate, the only one with a gun here is you,” said Ryan.

The Doctor had always known her friends were special. Right from that first night they had met, when they helped a strange woman from another world defend the Earth against Tim Shaw. These humans were extraordinary, and brave – braver than the Doctor felt right now, helpless to do anything but watch as they stood before the barrel of a gun held by a madman.

Rupert didn’t seem convinced by Ryan. His grip on the gun tightened and the Doctor’s hearts leapt into her throat.

“Rupert,” she said, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice. As he turned to look at her, she realised she didn’t know what to say. She had wanted to get his attention away from her friends and beyond that, she had no plan.

But she had defeated foes using far less.

Careful to maintain eye contact with him, she shifted around to better face him. “Please, let them go.”

“Why should I?” he shot back. “I know what’ll happen. This one—” he shook the gun at Yaz again; the Doctor didn’t look away from Rupert’s crazed eyes, but she could hear a small, terrified sound escape Yaz— “will go and bring the cavalry, and then where would I be?”

“She won’t,” the Doctor said. “I promise you, she won’t. Just let them leave, and you’ll never see them again.”

“I can’t.” To her surprise, there was something mournful in his expression – beyond the madness, he looked almost sad, and she felt no guilt in taking advantage of it.

Moving to her knees, the Doctor shuffled as close to him as she could. “I know you’re not a bad person. You were good to Grace, you can be kind. But you’ll be throwing all of that away if you hurt my friends. You don’t have to be the villain here.”

Rupert glanced to the ground, seeming to consider her suggestion. Beginning to feel hopeful, the Doctor continued; “Please. If you care about me at all – if you _ever_ cared about Grace – you’ll let them go.”

The silence was deafening and seemed to stretch for an eternity.

Then, Rupert looked up at her, his eyes clear and expression set in determination. “Don’t you see?” he asked, and the Doctor’s hearts sank. “It’s because I care about you that I can’t.”

She shook her head at him. “That’s not how it works. You can still do the right thing.”

Rupert didn’t move, and after a few moments of silence, the Doctor made a decision. “Let them go, and you can have me.”

“Hang on—”

“Doctor, _no_ —”

The Doctor clenched her teeth, trying not to panic when Rupert’s thumb moved to rest on the safety switch of the gun. The movement silenced her friends.

“‘Have you’?” he repeated.

“I won’t try to escape; I won’t call for help. It’ll be me and you, for as long as you want.”

Rupert was again quiet for a long time, staring at the gun as he thought.

“And if I do kill them?” he asked finally, his eyes not moving from the shining barrel.

“If you kill them—” The Doctor stopped and swallowed nervously, and when she started again, her voice was unshaken and clear. “If you kill them, then I will spend every moment I have trying to escape. I will fight you with everything until I’m away from you, and then I will leave this planet, and you will never see me again.”

When Rupert responded, he did so slowly, his voice low and serious. “I can’t trust that your friends won’t come back for you. So it sounds like I lose you either way.”

Then, in an act the Doctor could never have predicted, he swung the gun around and aimed it at her, his hands surprisingly steady.

“First you,” he said, his thumb flicking the safety off, “then me.”

The Doctor sat, frozen as she stared down the barrel of the object she hated most in the universe. Her hearts thundered in her chest, but her mind had become still, immobile with shock and exhaustion.

This was how she died. Not through a spectacular show of heroics and not even of old age. (Although she had accepted long ago that she would never live to die of old age.) The Doctor – the Oncoming Storm, the one who was feared by so many – would die helplessly at the hands of a human, dressed in completely ordinary clothes, while her friends watched on.

She supposed there was at least some poetry to be found in dying by a gun.

She could hear her fam – Yaz’s voice screaming her name as Graham shouted and Ryan darted forward – but it was distant and morphed, like her head was underwater. The only clarity was the gun before her and the realisation that this was the end for her. She watched as Rupert’s finger tightened on the trigger, perceiving it in almost slow motion and accepting that Ryan would never get there in time—

A startling crash shattered the moment, and time sped up as her friends fell to the ground, glass splintering around them as something landed heavily in the centre of the room.

It was humanoid but stood crouched on all fours like an animal. Its clawed fingers were like pale, twisted twigs and dug into the wooden floorboards, and its skin was hairless and white, with a bubbling, glossy texture, as if it had just been lifted from boiling oil. The creature hissed, baring its rows of pointed teeth, and then launched itself at Rupert in a motion so fast it was as if it had teleported.

Rupert let out a blood-curdling shriek as the pressure on his chest toppled him to the ground, and his gun fell from his hands, skidding across the floorboards. The creature raised its hand and pushed its claws into Rupert’s chest. The Doctor grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what was about to happen.

She heard Yaz gasp as a sickening sound filled the room, and she knew the creature must now be holding Rupert’s heart in its hand. It had managed to track her here, and once it had eaten Rupert’s heart, it would realise he wasn’t a Time Lord and find _her_ and—

Four deafening bangs cut through her spiralling thoughts. After a moment of silence, the Doctor opened her eyes and saw Ryan, his eyes wide and his chest heaving with quick, heavy breaths. Clutched in both his hands was Rupert’s gun, glinting in the light and still pointing at the corpse of the creature, which was now lying in the centre of the room. Black, tar-like blood had slowly begun to pool beneath it.

Beside the creature lay Rupert, his eyes wide and lifeless and his chest a bloodied mess. The Doctor tore her eyes away from the gory scene and looked back at her fam.

Ryan blinked a few times, as if he was re-entering the world from a dream. Then, as he came back to himself, he looked anxiously from the gun to the Doctor.

Graham placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, but whatever he said was swallowed by Yaz, who flew over to the Doctor and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, “you’re okay.” Yaz squeezed tightly and the Doctor once again allowed herself to sink into the hug, basking in just being held by her friend. “You’re okay,” Yaz said again, more to herself this time. Then, after a long while, she pulled back and quickly brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“You okay, Doc?” Graham asked, sounding shaken.

The fog covering her brain was beginning to recede and the world gradually sharpened.

“Yeah,” she said, finally finding her voice. It was croaky and unconvincing, so she added, “Yeah, I’m all right.”

There was a tugging sensation at her wrists and ankles, and she looked down to see Yaz and Ryan untying her. She felt a wave of gratitude for her friends – for how good and how brave they were, even when faced with two of the most horrifying things in the universe.

Once she was free and at last able to stand from the bed, Yaz touched her shoulder.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

The Doctor didn’t think she had ever welcomed those three words more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops sorry it's been so long! I edit in the evenings but this week I'd been too tired from work to do anything lol.  
> Hope you enjoyed - we're near the end now :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!

The TARDIS awakened with an achingly familiar drone, orange light pulsing through the crystals around the Doctor like blood through veins. She turned on the spot, drinking in the sight as the warmth and sounds of her ship chased away the homesickness that had squeezed itself so solidly between her hearts.

“Hello Old Girl,” she said quietly, gliding her fingertips lovingly along the console. The TARDIS chimed and the Doctor’s smile widened.

She took a moment to enjoy the company of her TARDIS and the feeling of being completely and utterly at ease. Then she turned to her friends, who were gathered by the door, silently watching the reunion.

“I never said thank you,” she said to them. “For saving me.”

“You don’t need to,” said Yaz, as the three of them took that as their cue to join her at the console. “We’ll always be there, whenever you need it.”

“And humans are kind of our thing,” added Graham. “If there’s one monster in our jurisdiction, I’d say that’s it.”

The Doctor was about to reply, but then noticed Ryan, who was hanging back slightly and looking far too forlorn for someone who had almost singlehandedly saved her life.

“Ryan?” she asked. “Something up?”

Ryan glanced up at her from where he had been watching the edge of his trainer scuff against an orange pillar, looking surprised at having been addressed.

“Just…” He looked away again, bunching his hands in his jacket pockets and the Doctor felt a bizarre pang of jealousy. She wanted to get out of Grace’s pyjamas and into her own clothes, with pockets and rainbows and a dramatic coat. “Does this mean you’re gonna kick me outta the TARDIS?”

The Doctor was dumbstruck for a moment, unable to do anything but stare at him. As the silence stretched, Ryan raised his head, looking anxiously from her to Graham and Yaz.

“Why would you think that?” she asked.

“Because I used a gun to kill that thing,” he said.

“Oh.” The Doctor couldn’t help but smile as it all fell into place, relief immediately swamping her anxiety. “Ryan, you saved my life. Of course I’m not going to kick you off! If anything, I should give you a present – like a swimming pool for your room, or bunkbeds!”

She heard Graham mutter something about bunkbeds, but kept her full attention on Ryan.

Ryan shook his head, looking confused. “But you’ve said so many times how you hate guns, and you’ve told us before that we’d be gone if we used one, so I thought—”

“I can make an exception here, Ryan,” she said gently. “That creature was going to kill us. You can always defend yourselves – that’s rule number seven!”

“What are rules one through six, then?” asked Graham.

The Doctor glanced at him, a lie on the tip of her tongue, but was saved from voicing it by Yaz. “Doctor, what _was_ that creature?”

“Its name doesn’t translate into any language on Earth… I’ll just call it a heart-eating alien,” she said, grateful for something concrete and factual to latch on to. “They’ve evolved over millions of years to eat the hearts of other species and developed the frankly impressive ability to sniff out a heart from across space. Time Lords have two hearts, so they’ve developed a bit of a, uh, a _taste_ for us. Gruesome stuff, really. We flew close enough for it to latch on, but luckily the TARDIS scanners picked it up in time for me to disguise myself as a human and, well… here we are.”

Yaz pulled a disgusted face. “That’s horrifying.”

“Yep!” agreed the Doctor, in a tone far too light for the weight she could feel in her hearts. “Good thing they’re extinct. At least, I thought they were. Maybe they are now.”

“So that thing’s gone, then?” asked Graham. “Ryan’s killed it?”

“Yeah,” replied the Doctor. “I didn’t want to risk any kind of encounter. Where those things are concerned, it’s usually better to just run and hide for a while.”

Yaz nodded. “We thought it must be bad if even _you_ were running from it.”

The Doctor put her hands on her hips haughtily. “Oi! I don’t always run toward the dangerous stuff!”

She was immediately met with three looks of disbelief, so conceded; “All right, fine. I do sometimes.”

“Didn’t think our maddest adventure would be on Earth,” said Ryan.

“All those monsters out there, and the worst one was human,” said Yaz, sounding solemn.

The Doctor felt her hearts ache at Yaz’s unhappy frown.

“None of that,” she said chidingly. “Every species has good and bad; the universe is all about balance. And on Earth, the good is _really_ good, like you three. Just means that to make up for it, the bad is… really bad.”

At the mention of the ‘really bad’, the Doctor felt the memory of Rupert fall over her like a cloud of ash and she turned back to the console. A custard cream fell from its dispenser, courtesy of the TARDIS in what was probably an attempt to cheer her up, but she grimaced at the reminder and turned her head away from it.

She hadn’t had the chance to really think at all about what had happened. Now that they were back aboard the TARDIS, safe and ready for the next adventure (although perhaps not yet), the Doctor had no distractions – no excuses to not think about Rupert, and his dark eyes and those photos on the wall—

A hand on her shoulder pulled her violently from her mind and her head shot up to come face-to-face with Yaz, whose eyebrows were pulled together in worry, her mouth still turned down in a frown. The Doctor couldn’t stand it, but when she went to look away again, Yaz’s gentle grip on her shoulder tightened a little. It wasn’t painful, nor was it unwanted; it was gentle and safe, like wearing a seatbelt, and the Doctor was struck by how unbothered she was by it.

A new tolerance (not liking – not yet) for familial touch and an avoidance of custard creams. Had this regeneration really changed so much so soon? After so many years of gushing over the beauty and the good in humanity, she had forgotten that there were demons among them as well, and because of this her safe haven had become her prison cell.

The Doctor hadn’t thought she’d feel anything other than powerful amongst humans. As much as she liked to believe that they were equals, there was a gaping, void-like trench between them: on one side was her, with all of her lives stretching behind her and two hearts beating like a war song in her chest; and them, with one, delicate life and a single heart to match.

Yet – _yet_ – a human had crossed over to her side of the trench and stripped her off all that power, making her feel more human than any Chameleon Arch could.

“What’s gonna happen with the creature?” asked Ryan. Then, more hesitantly, “And with Rupert?”

The Doctor made an effort to stand straighter and chase the melancholy away, using the question as a distraction from her thoughts. “Oh, suppose I’ll just call the Shadow Proclamation, seeing as UNIT’s out of order.”

Ryan snorted. “‘Shadow Proclamation’? They sound straight out of an 80s sci-fi.”

“You’re close. They’re kind of like… time travelling police officers.”

“Woah, really?”

“Not at all. But if it helps, then yes. They should be able to get there and clear up before any humans stumble across it.” She shot Ryan a cheeky smile. “I say _should_ … they can be a little unreliable. The time travel they use is cheap and nasty.”

“Not like your TARDIS, then?” said Graham jokingly. They had experienced more than a few of her TARDIS’s quirks, and it was particularly hard to convince them that it wasn’t unreliable when what was supposed to be a holiday to a beach planet became a trek across the swamplands of a civil war-ridden planet.

“Nothing like her,” said the Doctor, patting the console fondly. No human could ever understand the bond between the Doctor and her ship.

After a moment, Yaz shuffled on her feet. Yaz was never one to hold back, so it immediately caught the Doctor’s attention.

“So what do you wanna do now?” Yaz asked. “I mean, are you gonna go away in the TARDIS for a while? Or…” She left the sentence unfinished, but the use of the word ‘you’ startled the Doctor.

“What? You mean without you lot?” she asked, then swallowed against a wave of emotion as the implication hit her. “You don’t want to travel with me?”

The Doctor almost cringed at the uncertainty in her voice. She kept forgetting how expressive this body could be – very unlike her previous one, who had seemed to have stoicism as a built-in feature. She had, on more than one occasion, almost wished for that impassivity back, but over time had realised that it just wouldn’t sit right. This face was _supposed_ to be bubbly and expressive and happy; she was supposed to be _kind_ , but had been worn down by circumstances outside of her control.

“Of course we do! Right?” Yaz looked at Ryan and Graham, who quickly nodded along with her. “I was just wondering if you’d want… _need_ any time to yourself. With what happened to you… I mean, we don’t _know_ exactly what happened, but if you’d rather be alone for a while… we’ll be waiting for you.”

Feeling a lot lighter in knowing that her companions weren’t leaving her (probably worryingly lighter), the Doctor looked at each of them, her hearts filling with affection. Maybe in another life she would have preferred to cope alone – one a few faces ago, with a big heart locked behind a cage of iron – but now, she couldn’t think of anything worse. She needed the company and the distraction it provided. Alone, she had noticed that her mind became dark and jaded. That wasn’t who she wanted to be.

“I don’t want to be alone.” She really needed start giving the things she said a once-over before she said them, or else everything she said would sound as pathetic as that had.

“Doctor,” said Yaz, “it’s okay if you’re not… all right.”

“What?” the Doctor said, ignoring the way her hearts jumped at the statement. “Of course I am – I’m the king of all right!”

Yaz huffed a quiet laugh. “You mean queen?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Queen.”

“It’s just…” The Doctor frowned, having hoped Yaz would just take her word for it and drop the subject. “When we found you, you seemed really shaken up.” She glanced at Ryan and Graham, but they seemed to have taken a backseat, allowing Yaz to hold the reigns. “And on the way here, you didn’t say a word.”

Hadn’t she? That didn’t sound right. She must have said something, but as she cast her mind back to the drive over to the TARDIS, she found she couldn’t remember anything but the blurred scenery as she watched the world pass by the window – certainly no conversation taking place.

“I suppose what I’m asking is… Rupert didn’t hurt you at all, did he?”

It was odd to hear Yaz, who was usually so self-assured, dance around a topic. Yet, despite her avoidance, there was a spark of determination in her eyes.

“Just my pride,” the Doctor replied, beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Her coping mechanism usually involved flying as far away as she could and throwing herself into adventure after adventure until the pain dulled just a little. She didn’t like to talk through her issues if she could help it.

“What I mean is—” Yaz stopped, seeming to take a moment to choose her next words carefully. The Doctor felt nerves claw at her stomach and fought the urge to show any outward signs of anxiety. “He didn’t… touch you at all, did he?”

The Doctor frowned, confused. “Of course he did. How do you think I got there?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” The Doctor could feel herself becoming frustrated, but when she glanced at Ryan and Graham for help, she noticed that they had moved away from her and Yaz, talking quietly between one another and facing away. They were leaving this particular conversation – whatever it was – to Yaz.

Yaz sighed, then said, “Doctor, I’m asking if he touched you inappropriately.”

The Doctor’s hearts dropped like anchors, sinking to the pit of her stomach as she grasped what Yaz was asking. “Because you were on his bed,” Yaz continued, oblivious to the Doctor’s shock, or at least choosing to ignore it, “and you weren’t wearing shoes or socks, and you – you just seemed so _scared_ before you realised it was us coming in.” Yaz’s voice turned soft, and it was immediately clear to the Doctor that this type of conversation was something the police were trained to have. “I just wanted to check—”

“No!” the Doctor said, cutting her off before she could get any further. It wasn’t often she got embarrassed, but she could feel her face start to flush with colour. “No, he didn’t. I…” She briefly looked over at Ryan and Graham again, but they were still turned away, either too absorbed in their own conversation to listen in, or at least making a good show of it. “He didn’t.”

Yaz nodded, relaxing slightly. “Good. That’s good.”

There was a slightly awkward pause between them, during which the Doctor bit her lip and glanced over at the console, wondering if it would be rude to just walk away.

Then, Yaz brought her arms over her chest and said softly, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Doctor. I wish we could’ve helped you sooner.”

“You didn’t know,” said the Doctor, her voice equally as soft as Yaz’s.

“Still—” Yaz tilted her head, her eyes darting between the Doctor’s— “if you ever need someone to talk to – about this, or anything, really – then you can come to me. I know we’re… _different_ , so I won’t understand everything, but I’ve got experience with being a woman.” Her lips quirked up in a half-smile, and the Doctor couldn’t help but mirror it. She’d always found Yaz’s smile infectious, no matter how small. “Anytime, you can just ask. And I’m sure that offer stands with the boys, too.”

The Doctor felt her eyes sting with very human tears of gratitude. She wasn’t sure if she would ever take Yaz up on her offer; she wasn’t used to talking through how she was feeling and after so many years of bottling everything up, it would be a hard habit to break.

So she made no promises, nor did she acknowledge it with more than a smile and a “Thank you.”

But she did make an effort remember it, should she one day decide to open up for once, secrecy be damned.

* * *

After a long shower and having changed into her usual clothes (and with the comforting weight of her sonic in her pocket), the Doctor was feeling significantly more herself.

Her conversation with Yaz had helped too, she realised. She had been able to think past Rupert and forward, to a time where being on Earth didn’t make her skin tingle with an itch to leave. But for now, she was more than ready to leave Earth and immerse herself in the wonders of the universe.

She entered the console room and saw her friends were sat conversing on the steps. Upon seeing her, Graham cleared his throat in a way he probably thought was subtle and Ryan and Yaz sat bolt upright, swivelling around to greet her.

She knew they had been talking about her – she wasn’t quite that socially inept – but decided to feign ignorance. She didn’t want to open the doors to that conversation.

Instead, she plastered on a smile that felt far more genuine than it had when they had first entered the TARDIS and moved to the console.

“So! Where to, fam?” she asked, her voice bright and cheery as she flicked a switch she was fairly certain was just there for show. Either that, or the swimming pool had just flooded into the library again. “There’s a nebula cluster that looks _just_ like candy floss, or there’s this _amazing_ windmill on a planet called Hobin – way more exciting than it sounds.”

She turned around and was met with three fond faces, and she grinned at them.

“Feeling better, then?” asked Ryan.

“Oh yeah,” the Doctor said, and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Feel more myself. Wasn’t a fan of Grace’s clothes.” She scrunched her nose up in distaste, then caught it as their expressions fell slightly.

“So… what’s happened to Grace?” asked Graham.

“She’s gone,” she replied after a short pause, ultimately deciding not to sugar-coat anything. They deserved that much. Although she had been a creation of the TARDIS’s Chameleon Arch, Grace had been their friend, and the Doctor should have expected that they would grieve her loss.

“You mean she’s dead?” asked Ryan.

“Not dead. Just gone.” The Doctor wasn’t sure how to phrase what had happened to Grace – she thought it was probably a concept too far outside humanity’s realm of understanding for her friends to truly grasp it. “She was a part of me, so she’ll never really be dead. Grace was just who I am with all of the Time Lord stripped back.”

“But who she was,” said Yaz, the corners of her mouth wobbling slightly. “Grace herself. She gone now, yeah?”

The Doctor gave her a tight, grim smile. “Yeah, she’s gone.”

“Do you remember being her?” asked Ryan.

“Yes.” At first, while her mind still felt scrambled and full of fog, it had been difficult to discern Grace’s memories from her own. But she could feel them now and the harder she looked at them, the clearer they became, like focusing on a spot in the distance. “It’s a bit like remembering a dream, but it’s started coming back to me now.”

Her friends didn’t seem to have anything to say to that and after a moment, Graham clapped his hands together, making Ryan jump slightly.

“Well!” he said. “No point dwelling on it now, I suppose. You mentioned we were off somewhere?”

The Doctor could always trust Graham to bring them back from their glum thoughts. He was right, there was no point in dwelling on the past. She was far from over what had happened (she didn’t think she’d be able to stomach a custard cream for a while, which was frustrating because custard creams were brilliant), but she knew that through immersing herself in adventures with her friends, she could distract herself for long enough to forget, little by little.

She grinned at him brightly, then twirled around to the console. “Yeah, got any requests?”

“Driver’s choice,” said Graham.

The Doctor took a moment to think, then input a date, time and place into the TARDIS. She gripped the take-off lever, turning to face them.

“How do you feel about a distant planet in the far, _far_ future?”

Her companions’ faces split into smiles and they looked at one another with the kind of excited anticipation that always reminded the Doctor of why she brought humans along for the ride.

So many years travelling, so many adventures behind her. But pulling that lever would never get old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, hope you all enjoyed! :)


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